Sophia
On the 24th July 1830 Sophia was born to Patty and John - the family then consisted then of 6 children, Anna (10), Eliza (8 ), Freddy (6) John (4), William (2), and baby Sophia. Grandfather Parker (70) and Ann (66) made up the crowded household of 10 all living in the tenement in Woodgate (a quarter of what is now called ‘Clare Cottage’). What a struggle it must have been, seeking to support such a family.
The daisy button
On every thing 'neath heaven blue
In dark wood sung the Nightingale
My arms were clasped round Mary Gale
Her head a woodbine wet wi' dew
& two in one together grew
O' Mary Gale sweet Mary Gale
The moon looks down on grassy vale
How sweet the moonlight sleeps and still
The mole wharps mound & distant hill
The bees are gone and nothing hums
The moonlight sleeps o'er wood & wall
Can any charm O' courtship fail
The gossamer all wet wi' dew
She leaned her cheek & said ‘I do’
A green wood side
My illness was love
I peeled bits o straws & I got switches too
From the grey peeling willow as idlers do
& I switched at the flies as I sat all alone
Till my flesh blood & marrow wasted to the dry bone
But the beauty o love was the blood o my heart
Ever lonely in crowds in natures own laws
My drink was the fountain my church the tall trees
Whoever would love or be tied to a wife
When it makes a man mad all the days of his life
The summer adorning
Sweet are the blossoms the summer adorning
Deckt wi the charms of the dew bedded morning
Ere the suns spangles dry blossom & tree
Hushing my sorrows wi moments decline
Many selections of blossoms I’m counting
To trace in their beauty some likeness of thine
Keep their sabbaths
For them the church bells vainly call
Fields are their church & house & all
Theyll lie & catch the passing sound
That comes from steeples shining round
The happy bells delightful chime
& if they sit on rising ground,
To view the landscape spreading round
Sweet the fragrance
A beanfield full in blossom smells as sweet
As Araby or groves of orange flowers
Black-eyed & white & feathered to ones feet
How sweet they smell in mornings dewy hours
When seething night is left upon the flowers
& when morns sun shines brightly oer the field
The bean bloom glitters in the gems of showers
& sweet the fragrance which the union yields
To battered footpaths crossing oer the fields
Refuse of Nature
Long my dear valleys long long may ye flourish
Though rush-beds & thistles make most of your pride
May showers never fail the greens daisies to nourish
Nor suns dry the fountain that rills by its side
Your skies may be gloomy & misty your mornings
Your flat swampy valleys unwholesome may be
Still refuse of Nature without her adornings
Ye are dear as this heart in my bosom to me
Weeds of all sorts
Droning bee
The gay flowret
Engaged his attention as passing her bye
& rudly to gain her he stooped adown
Its beauty so dazzld his eye
By outside appearance the sensless are caught
& beautys gay triumph is foolish & short
With nothing to gain the attention beside
Possession soon sickens—& fleet as a thought
Beauty slips us forgotten aside
As snufting & snufting the clodhopper goes
& finding no sweetness for charming his nose
Frail beauties delusion soon wearied his eye
& away the gay flowret he heedlessly throws
To wither unnotis'd & dye
Butterflye
Freedoms throne
Fame
Fame blazed upon me like a comets glare
Fame waned & left me like a fallen star
Because I told the evil what they are
& truth & falshood never wished to mar
My Life hath been a wreck — & I've gone far
For peace & truth — & hope — for home & rest
— Like Edens gates — fate throws a constant bar —
Thoughts may o'ertake the sunset in the west
— Man meets no home within a womans breast
Hopeless Agony & Hell
My Mind Is Dark & Fathomless & Wears
The Hues Of Hopeless Agony & Hell
No Plummet Ever Sounds The Souls Affairs
There Death Eternal Never Sounds The Knell
There Love Imprisoned Sighs The Long Farewell
& Still May Sigh In Thoughts No Heart Hath Penned
Alone In Loneliness Where Sorrows Dwell
& Hopeless Hope Hopes On & Meets No End
Wastes Without Springs & Homes Without A Friend
Charming Mary
Mary mary charming mary
Now the sun has sunk to rest
& the even breeze so airy
Tries to bare thy snowy breast
How I love wi thee to wander
Mary o how sweet wi thee
Dusky meadows to meander
Where no soul can hear or see
Child Harold
Another tragic poem from Clare's 'Child Harold', written in the autumn of 1841 when Clare was back in Northborough and vainly seeking Mary Joyce. My Chapbook 'Child Harold' is the only published book with all of Clare's poems under that title. Nearly all written in the year of two asylums, 1841.
Song
I think of thee at early day
& wonder where my love can be
& when the evening shadows grey
O how I think of thee
Along the meadow banks I rove
& down the flaggy fen
& hope my first & early love
To meet thee once agen
I think of thee at dewy morn
& at the sunny noon
& walks with thee—now left forlorn
Beneath the silent moon
I think of thee I think of all
How blest we both have been—
The sun looks pale upon the wall
& autumn shuts the scene
I can't expect to meet thee now
The winter floods begin
The wind sighs through the naked bough
Sad as my heart within
I think of thee the seasons through
In spring when flowers I see
In winters lorn & naked view
I think of only thee
While life breaths on this earthly ball
What e'er my lot may be
Wether in freedom or in thrall
Mary I think of thee
Hidden Treasures
A little excerpt from 'Hidden Treasures' available from me this weekend at the Festival. Its contents cannnot be found in any other Clare publications. They are the fruit of many hours research in the Clare Archives.
As couzin unto thine
& oft thy nameless sprigs have got
To wish it well with mine
When trodden down where cuddys went
Ive propt thee up agen
& tyed thee with a propping bent
Like worthless scorning men
When moles their new hills threw about
& hid thy flowers from day
Ive stooped to get my couzin out
& bared the moulds away
& know I meet thee still the same
Supprise grows warm agen
Thou little friend with out a name
Behind the hills as then
Thy little chickweed gently flowers
& out of every wind
While cows & sheep all blooms devours
They [s]till leave thee behind