Old green lane

I met thee on the sabbath eve 

All in the sunday dew 

When sunshine oer the hill took leave 

Dip dipping out of view 

& there we strolld for many hours 

& said wed meet again 

But I cant forget the leaves & flowers 

& the Old green lane 

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On wheaten wing

Now the owl on wheaten wing

& white hood scowling oer his eyes

Jerking with a sudden spring

Through three-cornered barn hole flies

The sun is sinking low & red

A coal turned dim from gazing

Among the oak-trees goes to bed

& sets the woods a blazing

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Painting from my friend #CarryAkroyd

Dews of sorrow

Flowers shall hang upon the pawls
Brighter than patterns upon shawls
And blossoms shall be in the coffin lids
Sadder than tears on grief’s eyelids
Garlands shall hide pale corps faces
When beauty shall rot in charnel places
Spring flowers shall come in dews of sorrow
For the maiden goes down to her grave tomorrow

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Lingering bounty

Harvest awakes the morning still
And toils rude groups the valleys fill
Deserted is each cottage hearth
To all life save the crickets mirth
Each burring wheel their sabbath meets
Nor walks a gossip in the streets
All haunt the thronged fields still to share

The harvests lingering bounty there

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Sukey

Sukey's rare and Sukey's fair

Sukey's got the coal black hair

And in her neck the curl'd drakes tail
That makes her looks so very fine
And in her breast this heart of mine
That keeps me like a thief in jail
Which is so very fair and white
It keeps me waken half the night

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Image: One of Lady Hawarden’s daughters in 1860, yes 1860.  Amazing!

Mingling many shaded greens

The oaken folliage shaken by the wind

The dark green ivy round their trunks entwind

With all the mingling many shaded greens

That decorate the woodlands mixing scenes

These are the haunts & these the scenes so wild

Which are so dear to Natures every child

To sport in wildness nature dearly loves

& all her Children of her taste approves

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Along the wood ride

The hedger stopping gaps amid the leaves

That oer his head in every color weaves

The milk maid stepping with a timid look

From stone to stone across the brimming brook

The cotter journying wi his noisey swine

Along the wood ride where the brambles twine

Shaking from dinted cups the acorns brown

& from the hedges red awes dashing down

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Images: A valuable copy of Clare’s ‘Shepherd’s Calendar’ from 1827

Ladys Laces

O where I often when a child for hours
Tryd thro the pails to get the tempting flowers
As Ladys Laces everlasting peas
True love lies bleeding with the hearts at ease
& golden rods & tanzey running high
That oer the pail tops smild on passers bye
Flowers in my time that every one woud praise
Tho thrown like weeds from gardens now adays

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Image from my friend #JohnAbbott

Genius of the woods

While I brush the branches by 

& this woods still ways forsake 

Woodland spirit meet my eye 

Genius of the woods awake 

Breath[e] thy wildness in my ear 

[To thy trees] I do belong 

Genius of the woods appear 

Sound thy roughness in my song

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In noises low

Crows from the oak trees qawking as they spring 

Dashing the acorns down wi beating wing

Waking the woodlands sleep in noises low

Pattring on crimpt brakes withering brown below

While from their hollow nest the squirrels (pop)

Adown the tree to pick them as they drop

The starnel crowds that dim the muddy light

The crows & jackdaws flapping home at night

& puddock circling round its lazy flight

Round the wild sweeing wood in motion slow

Before it perches on the oaks below

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Haunting the hedges

Haunting the hedges for the wilding fruit
Of sloe or blackberry just as fancys suit
& gipseys camps in some snug sheltered nook
Where old lane hedges like the pasture brook
Run crooking as they will by wood and dell
In such lone spots these wild wood roamers dwell
On commons where no farmers claims appear
Nor tyrant justice rides to interfere
Such the abodes neath hedge or spreading oak
& but discovered by its curling smoke
Such are the pictures that October yields
To please the poet as he walks the fields

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All the fields with music ring

The crow sat on the willow tree

A-lifting up his wings
& glossy was his coat to see
& loud the ploughman sings
"I love my love because I know
The milkmaid she loves me"
& hoarsely croaked the glossy crow
Upon the willow tree.
"I love my love" the ploughman sung
& all the fields with music rung

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Image… Oil on canvas by my friend #JohnLincoln

In Autumns life

Lo! Autumn's come—wheres now the woodlands green?  

The charming Landscape? and the flowrey plain? 

All all are fled and left this motly scene 

Of fading yellow tingh'd with russet stain 

Tho these seem desolatley wild and drear 

Yet these are spring to what we still shall find 

Yon trees must all in nakednes appear 

‘Reft of their folige by the blustry wind 

Just so 't'will fare with me in Autumns life 

Just so I'd wish—but may the trunk and all 

Die with the leaves—nor taste that wintry strife 

Where Sorrows urge,—but still impede the fall

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Image… Oil on canvas by my friend #JohnLincoln

The wealthy dolt

The wealthy dolt for wit & sense

Though colleged and begrammared

Just as a nail that never stirs

No further than its hammered

& when hes made complete to act

Of wisdoms [face] a farce on

In making nothing else the fact

Is that hell* make a parson

(*he’ll)

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Image:  the original manuscript

Bowd & neath the ground

O much I love thee autumn sere

When fragrant in the mellow year

While dropping leaves & blossoms dead

Makes pillows for thy sunny bed

While faint short wirlwinds puffing bye

Breaths thy latest symphony

& much I love thy checkerd gloom

& dear I love thy waning moon

Where halfway bowd & neath the ground

Like a buble bright & round

The sun streams up till bove the wood

It meets the blue sky red as blood

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Browze in happy mood

I often in the summer morning fare 

To see that little “bushy close” agen 

& walk its little riding full of sloughs 

& elting footmarks of the pastoral cows 

Who through the hedges broken gaps intrude 

& in the woodlands browze in happy mood 

Seeming as they themselves loved melody 

& the sweet woodland shadows well as me

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Image from my friend #JohnAbbott

Sauntering narrow lanes

I cant contain myself in summers prime 

Tuneless I hum my wonder songs into rhyme 

Mere scraps of what I think or feel or see 

While sauntering narrow lanes – they are to me 

A heritage of happiness & yields 

Peace & calm joy from the refreshing fields

(A Clare ‘fragment’)

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Pearls roll off his back like rain

Then again he dips his wing
In the wrinkles of the spring
Then oer the rushes flies again
& pearls roll off his back like rain

Pretty little swallow fly
Village doors & windows by
Whisking oer the garden pales
Where the blackbird finds the snails

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Image from my friend #CarryAkroyd

Where must ye flye

O poor birds where must ye flye

Now your water pots are dry

If ye stay upon the heath

Ye'll be choak'd & clam'd to death

Therefore leave the shadeles goss

Seek the spring head lin'd with moss

There your little feet may stand

Safely on the printing sand

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Image from my friend #CarryAkroyd 

Levels every tree

Accursed wealth oer bounding human laws

Of every evil thou remains the cause

Victims of want those wretches such as me

Too truly lay their wretchedness to thee

Thou art the bar that keeps from being fed

& thine our loss of labour & of bread

Thou art the cause that levels every tree

& woods bow down to clear a way for thee

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