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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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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Thronged with mire

The roads are thronged with mire from hasty showers

& every hollow hath its plashy lake

Were school boys dabble in their leisure hours

Their boats to swim or water mills to make

With wild disorderd clouds the wilder skyes

Are covered were the brewing blacking storm

Is hourly rising while the shepherd boy

Leaps oer the mole hill tops to keep him warm

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Lo! Autumn’s come

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

The charming Landscape? & the flowrey plain? 

All all are fled & 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

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We pause by lake

Dusky meadows to meander

Where no soul can hear or see

As we pause by lake or fountain

On thy bosom bending free

Ah how sweet sensations counting

When I know each throbs for me

As thy face turns on the azure

Looking where the moon may dwell

As I fold thy beautys treasure

Wheres the kiss can taste so well

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Image from my friend #JohnAbbott

The sparrow noises

‘Pink pink’ the bunting sings & picks its feather

I love the note it speaks of winter weather

The blue cap seeks the mossy apple tree

& pecks the buds & flutters merrily

The sparrow noises in the cottage eaves

& hides from cats among the opening leaves

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Thronged with kine

Of poesy full many charms are thine

Green vales & tinkling brooks & pastures thronged with kine

& thy old woods as yet can claim & call

Thy native oak thy own that proudly towers

Boast of thy nation & the dread of all

& though the slighting sun & chilly showers

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Image from my friend #JohnAbbott

Grasses that never knew a scythe

In thy wild garb of other times

I find thee lingering still

Furze oer each lazy summit climbs

At natures easy will

Grasses that never knew a scythe

Waves all the summer long

& wild weed blossoms waken blythe

That ploughshares never wrong

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Image from the prolific studio of #CarryAkroyd

Valley rivers widen

Though long grass all the day is drenchd in dew

& splashy pathways lead me oer the greens

Though naked fields hang lonely on the view

Long lost to harvest & its busy scenes

Yet in the distance shines the painted bough

Leaves changed to every colour ere they die

& through the valley rivers widen now

Once little brooks which summer dribbled dry

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The emulating thrush

All in a moment stopt—I watched in vain

The timid bird had left the hazel bush

& at a distance hid to sing again

Lost in a wilderness of listening leaves

Rich extacy would pour its luscious strain

Till envy spurred the emulating thrush

To start less wild & scarce inferior songs

For cares with him for half the year remain

To damp the ardour of his speckled breast

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Image from the prolific studio of #CarryAkroyd

Natures simplest habit

& there with rural sweetness made

‘In natures simplest habit clad’ 

The elder bower displays its shade

Low bending oer the grassy pad 

Thrice lovly shades — this elder bower 

Old tasteful Judie loves to see

& loves to view each new-blown flower

The bursting bud or blossomd tree

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Blushing apples round & red

Each orchard now is smiling gay

Glittering in the morning ray

Rich clustering plums of varied hue

Of freckled red & misty blue

& sun-tanned pears with ruddy streak

Brown as was summers lusty cheek

& blushing apples round and red

Whose loaded branches pat the head

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The chestnut

The forest meets the blessings of the Spring

The chestnut throws her sticky buds away

& shows her pleasant leaves and snow-white flowers

The nightingale is loud & often heard

The notes of every song & hardly known

She hides & sings a stranger all the day

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