from "Coy Maidens"

[The Kirk at Upton]

Her voice shouted Roger, like throwing a stone

So give up old Soldier and let her alone

Go away with ye Roger young Man do I see

If you're an old Soldier you may march on with me.

I went with the maiden over heath and o'er plain

And when Sunday was come too, I saw her again

I saw her, and courted the sun from the West

And left my last kiss on the mole of her breast.

I kissed, and we’re married, and bedded and all

And the old Kirk at Upton the green wedding saw

For the grass it was green and our years was the same

And from morning to Evening none called us to blame

(lines 7-8, 11-20)

The Later Poems of John Clare 1837-1864,

ed. Eric Robinson and David Powell

(Oxford, 2 volumes, I-II, 1984)

Song: 'Come lovley Jenny"

Come lovley Jenny haste away

Quickly come make no delay
Come & view these sweetful flowers
Nurs'd by Aprils softest showers
Haste & greet their happy shade
Soon they'l wither soon they'l fade
Then haste my dearest haste away
Come & taste the sweets of May

Lovley sweets that never cloy
Happiest hours that yield to joy
Hedgerows dappl'd green & white
Look so graceful to the sight
Meadows cloth'd in yellow hue
Banks streak'd oer with vi'lets hue
Yet their charms will soon decay
Soon they'l fade & dye away

Then lovley Jenny haste away
Quickly come make no delay
Come & view these sweetful flowers
Nurs'd by Aprils softest showers
Haste & greet their happy shade
Soon they'l wither soon they'l fade
Then haste my dearest haste away
Come & taste the sweets of May

The Early Poems of John Clare 1804-1822,

ed. Eric Robinson, David Powell and Margaret Grainger

(Oxford, 2 volumes, I-II, 1989)

A Character

Her hair bound in tortoise or else loosley flowing

(Lo each is a beautiful show)
More blacker than jet the fine ringlets seem glowing
Nay they rival the Micaelmas sloe.
Her face cloth'd in blushes like the east in a morning
Sheds a lustre so healthful and gay
And O! her sweet neck is with Cupids adorning
More whiter than blossoms of May.

Her beautiful bosom with love sweetly swelling
Whould make e'en a Hermit to long
And O! of her eyes and her lips theres no telling
They'r out o' the reach of my song.
Her height with the rest in exactest propotion
Nought defective throughout can be seen
And her fine limbs conceal'd will oft show their sweet motion
When met by the wind on the green.

Tho her form is so charmingly fine tall and slender
It does not outrival her mind,
She's equaly Modest Obliging and Tender
That she seems for an angel designd.
She also is Witty and quick in descerning,
Nor a stranger to Helicon's spring,
She's an able proficient in all sorts of Learning,
To Draw or to Write or to Sing.

O! Cupid since thou with thy Bow fast pursuing
Made an Arrow flie twang thro my heart
Give me but this Maid I'll ne'er mourn the subduing,
But bless the good aim of thy dart.

The Early Poems of John Clare 1804-1822,

ed. Eric Robinson, David Powell and Margaret Grainger
(Oxford, 2 volumes, I-II, 1989)

Mary

'Tis April and the morning love

Awakes in balmy dew
Flowers are the meads adorning love
In yellow white and blue
And if thy heart is true my love
As true it used to be
Then leave thy cot and kye my love
And walk the fields with me

And we will walk the meadow love
And we will walk the grove
And by the winding river love
We'll walk and talk of love
And by the white thorn bushes love
Just budding into green
Where the shaded fountain rushes love
We'll steal a kiss unseen

Where the daisey on the brink my love
Stands peeping in the flood
And the blackcap flies to drink my love
That whistles in the wood
Where the crowflower like the sun my love
Shines in the grass so green
Let's go where waters run my love
And live and love unseen

And live and love unseen my dear
For one sweet April day
Drear winter seems to last a year
While Mary is away
Where we can see and not be seen
By woods or shady grove
Or by the hawthorn's tender green
Let's meet, and live and love

Selected Poems, ed. J.W. and Anne Tibble (Everyman, 1965)

Native Scenes

O native scenes for ever ever dear

So blest so happy where I long have been
So charmd with nature in each varied scene
To leave ye all is cutting & severe
Ye hanging bushes that from winds woud screen
Where oft Ive shelterd from an aprils shower
In youths past bliss in Childhoods happy hour
Ye Woods Ive wanderd searching out the nest
Ye Meadows gay that reard me many a flower

Culling my cow slips Ive been doubly blest
Huming gay fancies As I bound the prize
O Fate unkind beloved scenes adieu
Your vanishd pleasures crowd my swimming eyes
& makes this wounded heart to bleed anew

Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery (1820)

The Winter time is over love

The winter time is over love

White thorns begin to bud
& brown & green of freshness love
Enlivens all the wood
Theres white clouds got agen the sun
One daisey open on the green
The primrose shows its sulphur bud
Just where the hazel stulps are seen
& ere the April time is out
Along the ridings gravel walk
The bedlam primrose blooms about
Wi' twenty blossoms on a stalk
How happy seems the drop of dew
That nestles in the daiseys eye
How blest the cloud seems in the blue
That near the sun appears to lie

How happy does thy shadows seem

That stretches oer the morning grass
They seeims to walk as in a dream
I know their shadows as they pass
The primrose over withered leaves
Now beautifully shines

The Later Poems of John Clare

ed. Eric Robinson and Geoffrey Summerfield
(Manchester University Press, 1964)

from "Adieu to my false love for ever"

The week before Easter, the days long and clear,

So bright shone the sun and so cool blew the air,
I went in the meadow some flowers to find there,
But the meadow would yield me no posies.

The weather, like love, did deceitful appear,
And I wandered for joy when my sorrow was near,
For the thorn that wounds deeply doth bide the whole year,
When the bush it is naked of roses.

I courted a girl that was handsome and gay,
I thought her as constant and true as the day,
Till she married for riches and said my love nay,
And so my poor heart got requited.

(...)

Now make me a bed in yon river so deep,
Let its waves be my mourners; naught living will weep;
And there let me lie and take a long sleep,
So adieu to my false love for ever.

John Clare and the Folk Tradition (1983)
George Deacon

To an April Daisy

Welcome old Maytey peeping once again

Our meeting minds me of a pleasent hour
Springs pencil pinks thy cheek that blushy stain
& Summer glistens in thy tinty flower

Hail Beautys gem disdaining time nor place
Carlessly creeping on the dunghills side
Demeanour softens in thy crimpled face
& Decks thee with a charm unknown to pride

Hail 'venturer once again—that fearless here
Encampeth on the hoar hills sunny side
Springs early messenger thourt doubly dear
& Winters loss by thee is well suply'd

Now winters storms shall cease their pelting rage
Nor need I mention Winters woes to thee
Far better luck thy visits well presage
& be it thine & mine that luck to see

Ah may thy smiles confirm the hopes they tell—
To see thee frost bit I'd be griev'd at heart
I meet thee happy & I wish thee well
Till ripening summer summons us to part

Then like old friends or mates thats neighbours been
Well part in hopes to meet another year
& at thy exit from this changing scene
Well mix our wishes in a tokening tear

Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery (1820)