Loosely flowing


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.


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An early photo (1860) by #ClementinaLadyHawarden of one of her daughters

 

Waking fond desire


Now melancholy autumn comes anew
With showery clouds and fields of wheat tanned brown
Along the meadow banks I peace pursue
And see the wild flowers gleaming up and down
Like sun and light; the ragwort's golden crown
Mirrors like sunshine when sunbeams retire
And silver yarrow: there's the little town
And o'er the meadows gleams that slender spire
Reminding me of one, and waking fond desire

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Artist print by #CarryAkroyd

Like lilies on the lake


Thy face is sweet, thy cares are young
Thy voice is womans lovely tongue
Thy smiles are such as all delight
Thy thoughts are lilys clothed in light
Thy swan like neck, thy swelling breast
Like lilies on the lake at rest
Thou art of all the fairest flower
That blooms amid this earthly bower

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The changing face of heaven



Tis lovley now to turn ones eye  

The changing face of heaven to mind 
 How thin spun clouds glide swiftly bye 
 Wi lurking storms slow movd behind 
 Now suns are clear now clouds prevade 
 Each moment changd & changd again
& first a light & then a shade 
 Swift glooms & brightens oer the plain

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The rosy day


The rosy day was sweet and young,

The clod-brown lark that hail'd the morn
Had just her summer anthem sung,
And trembling dropped in the corn;
The dew-rais'd flower was perk and proud,
The butterfly around it play'd;
The sky's blue clear, save woolly cloud
That pass'd the sun without a shade.

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Twittering swallows


By twittering swallows we percieve

That summers on the point to leave
Who skim the pond & rippling spring
Were once they dipt each sooty wing
& greensward lanes from morn till night
Were once they weeld their circling flight

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So is the life of man


Both milkmaids shouts and herdsmans call
Have vanish'd with the green
The kingcups yellow shades and all
Shall never more be seen

As are the changes of the green
So is the life of man


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Artist Print by my friend #CarryAkroyd

 

2023 Chapbooks


I've been planning for several years, to introduce the general reader to a wider range of 'Clare-related' subjects, each book concentrating on just one topic.  In keeping with their history my 
Arbour Editions Chapbooks are very inexpensive, but in a break with tradition the books are high quality productions with gloss covers.  

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Photo of my latest three chapbooks from 2023, more details on arboureditions1.blogspot.com 

The prowling fox


Housewives discoursing 'bout their hens and cocks,

Spinning long stories, wearing half the day;
Sad deeds bewailing of the prowling fox;
How in the roost the thief had knav'd his way,
And made their market-profits all a prey.

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Painting by my friend #CarryAkroyd

Song sweet warbling thrush


Thrice Welcome to thy song sweet warbling thrush

May you be happy as you still have been
The present sunshine warms your covert bush
The future clouds you know not what they mean
Vain foolish thought & why should ye be sad
Why be like me with ills to come oprest
To pass the present bliss that may be had
& wait on sorrow as a welcome guest

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Photo by my friend #JohnAbbott

Among the sheaves


The fields now claim them where a motley crew

Of old and young their daily tasks pursue
The barleys beard is grey and wheat is brown
And wakens toil betimes to leave the town
The reapers leave their beds before the sun
And gleaners follow in the toils begun
To pick the littered ear the reaper leaves
And glean in open fields among the sheaves

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Dizzy nauntling high and proud


 Where the steeples taper stretch

Tries the eye its length to reach
Dizzy nauntling high & proud
Top stone loosing in a cloud
Where the cross to time resignd
Creaking harshly in the wind
Crowning high the rifted dome
Points the pilgrims wisht for home

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Photo: Peterborough Cathedral, this inspiration for Clare’s lines.

Down the cool lanes


Lonely oer the heaths to ramble 
Mary thou my partner be 
 Down the cool lanes lind wi bramble 
 Mary wind the brook wi me 
 Tho before in glooms surrounded 
 When encircld in thy arms 
 Beating heart wi troubles wounded 
 Throbs to rest on Marys charms

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To kiss the rivers lesser weeds


The bulrush bows in graceful art 

To kiss the rivers lesser weeds
& flags in many a merry start 
Rustling whisper to the reeds
Shall  things inanimate agree 
To love unmoving thee & me

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Photo from my friend #JohnAbbott 

Winding ways


Theres somthing rich & joyful to the mind 

To view through close & field those crooked shreds 
Of footpaths that most picturesqly wind 
From  town to town or some tree hidden sheds 
Where lonely cottager lifes peace enjoys 
Far far from strife & all its troubled noise 
The pent up artizan by pleasure led 
Along their winding ways right glad employs

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Natures happiest hand


As rugged & as barren as it seems 
This heath too has its beauties 
So sweetly wild & perminant of hue 
& heaths low creeping in their pinky bloom 
& here beside the dead bents rustling tuft 
A blossom hides its beauties from the world 
& such a one as natures happiest hand

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A scarlet host display


The garish Summer comes with many tribes 

Of gay & gaudy flowers in bright array
But the hot sun the cloudy morning bribes
& dries all moisture with his scorching ray
Corn-poppies oft a scarlet host display
The oak woods green like rocky masses hing 
On wooded hills the willows waving grey
Hang mournful in the stream birds cease to sing

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Cool thy waters run


Sweet fountain neeth thy pendant boughs 
 May cool thy waters run 
While flocks of sheep & herds of cows 
 Seek shelter from the sun 
Unhead[ed] be thy willow ranks 
 Thy waters pure & clear 
For her I meet upon thy banks 
 Thou fountain thou art dear

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The plash of quiet kine


Ive often gazed with pleasure by the edge
Of the old meadow lake floodwashed and crookd 
The water-rat slow rustling in the sedge
The fish-ring wavering in the clear Ive looked
In rapture on the mellow summer shine
Of the still water gleaming in the sun
Just  wrinkled by the plash of quiet kine
Who  knee-deep in the flags would drink— & done

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Photo by my friend #JohnAbbott yesterday.

Love makes the posies


Wild flowers and wild roses
'‘Tis love makes the posies
To paint Summer ballads of meadow & glen
Floods cantdrown it nor turn it
Even flames cannot burn it
Let it bloom till we walk the green meadows
again

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A coy lover


The Moth a coy lover now ventures to creep

Out at night to steal kisses from flowers when asleep
But the Butterflye bold as the Bee for a plot
Kisses the flowers all the day whether willing or not
Now no longer able his sports to pursue
He lay neath a leaf to get out of the dew

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Along the baulk


How fond the rustics ear at leisure dwells

On the soft soundings of his village bells
As on a sunday morning at his ease
He takes his rambles just as fancys please
Down narrow baulks that interscet the fields
Hid in profusions that its produce yields
Long twining peas in faintly misted greens
& winged leaf multitudes of crowding beans
& flighty oatlands of a lighter hue
& speary barley bowing down with dew

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Homeward bends his weary way


The weary thresher leaves his barn

And emptys from his shoes the corn
That gatherd in them thro the day
And homward bends his weary way
The gardener he is sprinkling showers
From watering pans on drooping flowers
And set away his hoe and spade
While goody neath the cottage shade
Sits wi a baskett tween her knees
Ready for supper shelling peas

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Painting by #CarryAkroyd 

Their sweets are sweet to them alone


With Genius blest but like to thee
So With Genius blest but like to thee
With Genius blest but like to thee
So humble lowly mean & plain
No one will notice them nor me
So like to thee they live unknown
Wild weeds obscure & like to thee
Their sweets are sweet to them alone

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Painting by my friend #CarryAkroyd