Lone spots

By hedgrow side or bushy bordering spots 

That loves in shade & solitude to dwell 
& when the summers swarms half namless fled 
& autumns landscape faded bleak & wild 
When leaves gun fall & show their berries red 
Still with the season woud I be beguild 
Lone spots to seek home leaving far behind 
Were wildness rears her lings & teazle burs 
& were last lingering of the flowery kind 
Blue heath bells tremble neath the sheltering furze

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Winter and a fireside

Let's have something of a puzzle.  Is this a single poem or perhaps two that Clare was working on at the same time? Probably unpublished, I found these verses in a Clare manuscript in the Peterborough archives a while ago, and cannot find them published anywhere.

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

Beside the fire large apples lay to roast

& in a hugh brown pitcher creaming ale

Was warming seasoned with a nut meg toast

The merry group of gossips to regale

With in the chimney top the threating gale             

Howld angrily & loud but coud not scare                           

The crickets raptures from its merry tale                          

Around her feet the glad cat curld her tail

Listing the crickets song with half shut eyes            

While in the chimney top loud roars the gale

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Gardeners Bonny daughter

The chaffinch in the hedgerow sings by a brown & naked thorn
By its tail the titmouse hings searching the buds at morn
I'll wish dirty roads away & the meadows flooded water
& court before I end the day the gardners bonny daughter

Shes 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

Her cheeks theyre like a coloured rose oh a kiss would surely burn ye
Her lips are gems more red than those for love I'll go the journey
When the white thorn comes in bloom & the chaffinch lays its lauter
I'll walk where singing birds are brief with the gardners bonny daughter

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Colours of Autumn

Now that the year is drawing to a close 

Such mellow tints on trees & bushes lie 
So like to sunshine that it brighter glows 
As one looks more intently—on the sky 
I turn astonished that no sun is there 
The ribboned strips of orange blue & red 
Streaks through the western sky a georgeous bed 
Painting days end most beautifully fair 
So mild so quiet breaths the balmy air 
Scenting the perfume of decaying leaves 
Such fragrance & such lovliness they wear 
Trees hedgrows bushes that the heart recieves 
Joys for which language owneth words too few 
To paint that glowing richness which I view

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Image by my friend #CarryAkroyd 

My last shilling

O dismal disaster O troublesome lot
What a heart rending theme for my musing Ive got 
Then pray whats the matter O friend I'm not willing 
The thought grieves me sore 
Now Im drove to the shore 
& must I then spend the last shilling the shilling 
& must I then spend the last shilling 

O painful reflection thou whole of my store 
That for these three months in my breeches Ive wore 
To spend thee to spend thee that thought turns me chilling 
O must I in spight 
Of all reason this night 
A Farwell bid to my last shilling my shilling 
A Farwell bid to my last shilling

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The matted shades

Oh I do love to force a way
Through woods where lone the woodman goes
Through all the matted shades to stray
The brambles tearing at my clothes
& it may tear I love the noise
& hug the solitary joys

The woodman he from top to toe

In leathern doublet brushes on

He cares not where his rambles go

Thorns briers he beats them every one

Their utmost spite his armour foils

Unhurt he dares his daily toils

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Silent birds

Why are ye silent Birds
Where do ye fly
Winters not violent
With such a Spring sky
The wheatlands are green snow & frost are away
Birds why are ye silent on such a sweet day?

By the slated pig-stye
The redbreast scarce whispers
Where last Autumns leaves lie
The hedge sparrow just lispers
& why are the chaffinch & bullfinch so still
While the sulphur primroses bedeck the wood hill?

The bright yellow-hammers
Are strutting about
All still & none stammers
A single note out
From the hedge starts the blackbird at brook side to drink
I thought hed have whistled but he only said "prink”

The tree-creeper hustles
Up firs rusty bark
All silent he bustles
We neednt say hark
Theres no song in the forest in field or in wood
Yet the sun gilds the grass as though come in for good

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