An incomplete rhyming scheme perhaps, but what fun!
Personally I think Clare’s pencil simply ran away with him,
and sometimes he never went back to ‘correct’.
Thy spirit visits me like dew
That glistens on the flowers
Falling in the morning blue
& in the evening hours
That glistens on the flowers
Falling in the morning blue
& in the evening hours
The wild flowers have a feeling
Oer my calm senses stealing
& loves soft dreams revealing
Seem wispering from the bowers
Seem wispering from the bowers
The foxgloves freckled bells
That blossom by the wood
& in the forrest dells
In the midst of solitude
That blossom by the wood
& in the forrest dells
In the midst of solitude
There I hear my lover call
Where the whitethorn forms a wall
& the foxglove blossoms tall
In the tears of eve bedewed
Spirit thou of every place
Where loves memories are left
Places green as years of grace
Where hope lives of love bereft
My love lives in these green places
Where woodbine the white thorn embraces
Far from the crowd of worldly faces
Here loves spirit still is left
Daily #JohnClare posts
#poetry #environment
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