If only Clare wrote the weather report each day. All the lines from ‘November’.
The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon
& if the sun looks through 'tis with a face
Beamless & pale & round as if the moon
When done the journey of her nightly race
Had found him sleeping & supplied his place
& if the sun looks through 'tis with a face
Beamless & pale & round as if the moon
When done the journey of her nightly race
Had found him sleeping & supplied his place
For days the shepherds in the fields may be
Nor mark a patch of sky — blindfold they trace
The plains that seem without a bush or tree
Whistling aloud by guess to flocks they cannot see
Nor mark a patch of sky — blindfold they trace
The plains that seem without a bush or tree
Whistling aloud by guess to flocks they cannot see
Follow me for daily #JohnClare postings
#poetry #environment
#honesty
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment