The sooty crow

How peaceable it seems for lonely men 
To see a crow fly in the thin blue sky 
Over the woods & fealds oer level fen 
It speaks of villages or cottage nigh 
Behind the neighbouring woods—when march winds high 
Tear off the branches of the hugh old oak 
I love to see these chimney sweeps sail by

& hear them oer the knarled forest croak 
Then sosh askew from the hid woodmans stroke 
That in the woods their daily labours ply 
I love the sooty crow nor would provoke 
Its march day exercises of croaking joy 
I love to see it sailing to and fro 
While feelds & woods & waters spread below

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A vain life?

Well have I learnd the value of vain life 
Long have I stood the worlds reproach & scorn 
& braved fates sea full many a cloudy morn 
Long bristling many a waves contending strife 
Long curs'd the luckless day that saw me born 
& brought to light my miserys & me 
But now vain life & use me how ye will 
Ill kiss the rod & smile at every ill 
Ive learnd thy value & I've learnd thy end 
A mad braind wanderer & without a friend 
Age learnd me little & experience much 
& as a beggar leans upon his crutch

On my last hope a pilgrim here I bend 
For peace beyond the grave were all my woes shall end

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Memory

I would not that my memory all should die
And pass away with every common lot
I would not that my humble dust should lie
In quite a strange and unfrequented spot
By all unheeded and by all forgot
With nothing save the heedless winds to sigh
And nothing but the dewy morn to weep
About my grave, far hid from the world's eye
I fain would have some friend to wander nigh
And find a path to where my ashes sleep
Not the cold heart that merely passes by
To read who lies beneath, but such as keep
Past memories warm with deeds of other years,
And pay to friendship some few friendly tears

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Sir Winter

Some two or three weeks before valentine day 
At a time when Sir Winter grew kind & in play 
Shook hands with Miss Flora he wooed her to spare 
A few pretty snowdrops to stick in his hair 
Intending for truth as he said to resign 
His throne to Miss Spring & her priest Valentine 
Which trifle he asked for before he set forth 
To remind him of all when he got in the north 

& this is the reason that snowdrops appear 
Mid the cold of the winter so soon in the year 
Flora gladly complied & the instant she heard 
Flew away with the news to each bachelor bird 
Who in raptures half moved on loves errands to start 
Their songs muttered over to get them by heart

Nay the Mavis at once sung aloud in their glee 
& looked for a spot where loves dwelling should be

(Mavis = thrush)

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Queen of fairey land

Kate was the queen upon that merry night 
& rode upon the waggon drest in white 
The stranger oft looked up to see her stand 
& smiling called her “queen of fairey land”

That harvest supper we had morts of fun 
& Farmer Sparks was there a neighbours son 
He was her fathers choice who dreamed of gain 
& talked of marriage as he would of grain 
He vainly tryed young Kittys smiles to share 
& next her without bidding took his chair 
Full oft with gracious simperings looking up 
To drink to Kitty oer the silver cup

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Sings sweet smiles

The chaffinch in the hedgerow sings, by a brown and naked thorn
By it's tail the titmouse hings searching the buds at morn
I'll wish dirty roads away and the meadows flooded water
And court before I end the day the Gardner's bonny daughter

She's sweeter than the first of spring , more fair than Christmas roses
When Robins by the hovel sings sweet smiles this maid discloses
Her hair so brown her eyes so bright as clear as meadow water
I'll go and have a word tonight with the gardners bonny daughter

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Snow clothd valley

Hail scenes of Desolation & despair 
Keen Winters over bearing sport & scorn 
Torn by his Rage in ruins as you are 
To me more pleasing then a summers morn 
Your shatterd scenes appear despoild & bare 
Stript of your clothing naked & forlorn 
Yes Winters havoc wretched as you shine 
Dismal to others as your fate may seem 
Your fate is pleasing to this heart of mine 
Your wildest horrors I the most esteem
The ice-bound floods that still with rigour freeze 
The snow clothd valley & the naked tree 
These sympathising scenes my heart can please 
Distress is theirs & they resemble me

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Mice

Unperceived through key-holes creep
When all around have sunk to sleep
To feast on what the cotter leaves
Mice are not reckoned greater thieves
They take away as well as eat
& still the housewifes eye they cheat
In spite of all the folks that swarm
In cottage small & larger farm
They through each key-hole pop & pop
Like wasps into a grocers shop

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Solitude

Clare's publisher John Taylor removed the following lines from the published text of 'Solitude' in ‘The Village Minstrel’.  Working with Clare's original manuscript,  I have simply assembled them in the order in which they appear, dotted through the scribbled pages.   Why were these lines deleted?  No-one has any idea.

    

    O how sweet I cannot tell
    With thee at that hour to dwell
    Stretchd the mossy bank beside
    Lye to view the random tide
    Where no clowns has chopt from thence
    Bush nor stake to mend his fence

    Cornerd stones & pebbles round
    Breaking dasht wi mellow sound
    Wether this or that to see
    I am blest if Im wi thee
    & full dear has been the hour
    Spent wi in thy noon day bower
    Prest wi thee thy mossy seat
    O its unexpressive sweet

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The blushing morn

O now the crimson east its fire streak burning 


Tempts me to wander neath the blushing morn 


Winding the zig zag lane turning & turning 


As winds the crooked fences wilderd thorn 


O wheres the eye can gaze upon the dawn 
 

That flushes yon blue sky of cloudless heaven 


& gilds the prospect round below—what eye 


Can look upon the beautys morn has given 


& look unmovd sure neer a soul thats living 


The soul must be extinct who passes bye 


I cannot pass the very bramble weeping 


Neath dewy tear drops that its spears surround 


Like harlots mockery on the wan cheek creeping 


Gilding the poison that is meant to wound 


I cannot pass the bent ere gales have shaken 


Its transient crowning off each point adorning 


But all the feelings of my soul awaken 


To own the witcheries of most lovley morning 


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A lovely charm

I love the raving winds the murky gloom 
& I love the sea 
When ocean billows burst in frothy hum 
& where they silent be

I love the rough & smooth of natures voice 
The quiet & the rude 
For Nature never had unpleasant voice 
But sweet as Solitude 

I love the tumult in the forest trees 
& wood winds to hear 
In natures soul of quiet sympathies 
There—ther's nought to fear 
Nothing creating pain or harm 
& no noises rude 
The loud tongued thunder is a lovely charm 
A companion in solitude

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A deadly foe

O Winter what a deadly foe 
Art thou unto the mean & low 
What thousands now half-pind & bare 
Are forcd to stand thy piercing air 
All day neer numb'd to death wi' cold 
Some petty Gentry to uphold 
Paltry proudlings hard as thee 
Dead to all humanity
O the weathers cold & snow 
Cutting winds that round me blow 
But much more the killing scorn 
O the day that I was born 
Friendless — poor as I can be 
Struck wi' death o' poverty

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The Firwood

The fir trees taper into twigs & wear
The rich blue green of summer all the year
Softening the roughest tempest almost calm
& offering shelter ever still & warm
To the small path that towels underneath
Where loudest winds almost as summers breath
Scarce fan the weed that lingers green below
When others out of doors are lost in frost & snow
& sweet the music trembles on the ear
As the wind suthers through each tiny spear
Makeshifts for leaves & yet so rich they show
Winter is almost summer where they grow

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Desolate a waste

Een winter deemed so desolate a waste

Hath crowds of beautys to the man of taste

& oft he walks about on quiet days

Full many things to notice & to praise

Where oer the snow clad fields the little feet

Of hares are printed that betray their seat

& woods so still he een may hear the sound

Of small wrens footsteps or the heaving ground

While trees & branches make a splendid show

Of lights & shadows hung in wreaths of snow

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Winter shepherd

The shepherd too in great coat wrapt
& straw bands round his stockings lapt
Wi plodding dog that sheltering steals
To shun the wind behind his heels
Takes rough & smooth the winter weather
& paces thro the snow together
While in the fields the lonly plough
Enjoys its frozen sabbath now
& horses too pass time away
In leisures hungry holiday

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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

Though they are blazoned in the poets song
As all the comforts which our lifes contain
I read & sought such joys my whole life long
& found the best of poets sung in vain
But still I read & sighed & sued again
& lost no purpose where I had the will
I almost worshiped when my toils grew vain
Finding no antidote my pains to kill
I sigh a poet & a lover still

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Scenes of Desolation

Hail scenes of Desolation & despair
Keen Winters over bearing sport & scorn
Torn by his Rage in ruins as you are
To me more pleasing then a summers morn
Your shatter'd scenes appear—despoild & bare
Stript of your clothing naked & forlorn
—Yes Winters havoc wretched as you shine
Dismal to others as your fate may seem
Your fate is pleasing to this heart of mine
Your wildest horrors I the most esteem.—
The ice-bound floods that still with rigour freeze
The snow clothd valley & the naked tree
These sympathising scenes my heart can please
Distress is theirs—& they resemble me

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Wood Rideings

How pleasant these wood rideings with the sward closely cut along through the underwood that seems so entangld that you woud wonder how the tall bracken contrives to get through it      brown & yellow leaves litter the greensward & rustles under the feet      the autumn tempest or winds sweeps through the vollying trees like the long mutterings of continud thunder or rollings of artillery a long way distant & yet the trees seem in no violent motion but this low muttering thunder seems be the sylvan voice of autumn     

In walking through a wood even what may be called a calm day for the season we may gennerally hear thee same huzzing rumbling noise in the woods which to me is as agreeable as music.     the stone pits on the heath   with the stone piled up & the rubbish thrown in heaps    covered in places with weeds & wild flowers growing rank & luxuriant    looks very pleasing among the dark furze      here are heather bells of a bright blue bowing for shelter close by the cart ruts where the wind can scarcely come at them    sheltered as if they had a house of their own      & in the woodrides are some dark purple flowers of Devils bit 

(October 1841)

Although Clare was confused about virtually everything in 1841 - the year of two asylums - his clarity of thought, as he wandered through the woods that autumn, is remarkable.  The prose thoughts of a gifted poet.

(Spacing and paragraphs inserted to assist readers - Clare rarely used either)

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The foddering boy

The foddering boy along the crumping snows 
With straw band belted legs & folded arm 
Hastens & on the blast that keenly blows 
Oft turns for breath & beats his fingers warm 
& shakes the lodging snows from off his cloaths
Buttoning his doublet closer from the storm 
& slouching his brown beaver oer his nose 
Then faces it agen—& seeks the stack 
Within its circling fence—were hungry lows 
Expecting cattle making many a track 
About the snows—impatient for the sound 
When in hugh fork fulls trailing at his back 
He litters the sweet hay about the ground 
& bawls to call the staring cattle round

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Evening Pastime

Musing beside the crackling fire at night 
While singing kettle merrily prepares 
Womans solacing beverage I delight 
To read a pleasant volume where the cares 
Of life are sweetened by the muses voice— 
Thompson or Cowper or the Bard that bears 
Lifes humblest name though natures favoured choice 
Her pastoral Bloomfield—& as evening wears 
Weary with reading list the little tales 
Of laughing childern who edge up their chairs 
To tell the past days sport which never fails 
To cheer the spirits—while my fancy shares 
Their artless talk mans sturdy reason fails 
& memorys joy grows young again with theirs

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Luck

The old dame tho not in laughing mood
 
For on that night at one fell sweeping stroke 
Mischeveous cat that at a mouse had struck 
Trip on the self her best blue china broke
 
Yet spit[e] of fate is tickeled at the joke 

She laughs untill here very sides did ache 
& some so tittled [that] they could not smoke 
Laid down their pipes lest they should brake 
& laughed & laughed agen until their ribs did ache 


(Unpublished)
Written on the back of a newspaper label dated Jun 1st 1823 (PO stamp) 

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The wind suthers softly

The wind suthers softly    Among the green bushes 
Where the wing leafed ash    Hides a nest of song thrushes 
The Elms green was darker    The Ash shaded paler 
Where I walked wi my true love     & nothing did ail her 
Her cheeks was the wild rose    She was bonny & fat 
& rainbow the ribbon    On her bonny straw hat 

The Elm strake was darkest    The Ash trees more pale 
& bonny the white thorn    Shook by the gale 
To & fro flew the Chaffinch    Busy feeding her young 
Th'spotted thrush on her blue eggs    Sat brooding long 
Where I went with young    Dinah so bonny & fat 
With the hues of the rainbow    Around her straw hat

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Lassie I love thee

Lassie I love thee
The heavens above thee
Look downwards to move thee
& prove my love true
My arms round thy waist love
My head on thy breast love
By a true man caressed love
Ne'er bid me adieu

Thy cheeks full o' blushes
Like the rose in the bushes
While my love ardent gushes
With over delight
Though clouds may come o'er thee
Sweet maid I'll adore thee
As I do now before thee
I love thee outright

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Joy or Bliss

A recent discovery, hidden in Clare's Prose...

& what is joy or bliss or happiness
Mere trifling parents of a laugh or smile
That are but cares decked in a different dress
To cheat our hearts & sooth our hopes awhile
Mere sabbaths in lifes agonizing toil
To catch our breath while in its style we dwell
Prolonging (?life) by shadows that beguile
For joys beginnings have one tale to tell
& bring their end a heart  ach[e] & far[e]well

(Unpublished)

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Image by my friend #AnnLee

January (excerpt)

[Image : John Watchorn]

The schoolboy still in dithering joys
Pastime in leisure hours employs
And be the weather as it may
Is never at a loss for play
Rolling up jiant heaps of snow
As noontide frets its little thaw
Making rude things of various names
Snow men or aught their fancy frames
Till numbd wi cold they quake away
And join at hotter sports to play
Kicking wi many a flying bound
The foot ball oer the frozen ground
Or seeking bright glib ice to play
To sailing slide the hours away
As smooth and quick as shadows run
When clouds in autumn pass the sun
Some hurrying rambles eager take
To skait upon the meadow lake
Scaring the snipe from her retreat
From shelving banks unfrozen seat
Or running brook where icy spars
Which the pale sunlight specks wi stars
Shoots crizzling oer the restless tide
To many a likness petrified
Where fancy often stoops to pore
And turns again to wonder more
The more hen too wi fear opprest
Starts from her reedy shelterd nest
Bustling to get from foes away
And scarcly flies more fast then they
Skaiting along wi curving springs
Wi arms spread out like herons wings
They race away for pleasures sake
A hunters speed along the lake

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