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John Clare



I love the fitfull gusts that shake
 The casement all the day,
And from the glossy elm tree takes
 The faded leaves away,
Twirling them by the window-pane
With thousand others down the lane.


I love to see the shaking twig
 Dance till the shut of eve,
The sparrow on the cottage rig,
 Whose chirp would make believe
That Spring was just now flirting by
In Summer's lap with flowers to lie.


I love to see the cottage smoke
 Curl upwards through the trees,
The pigeons nestled round the cote
 On November days like these;
The cock upon the dunghill crowing,
The mill sails on the heath a-going.

The feather from the raven's breast
 Falls on the stubble lea,
The acorns near the old crow's nest
 Drop pattering down the tree;
The grunting pigs that wait for all,
Scramble and hurry where they fall.

This poem is in the public domain.



John Clare (1793 - 1864) was born to a poor, working class family in England. His life as an uneducated peasant farmer was one of constant struggle and hardships, yet his poetry is wonderfully inspiring. John was a "poetic environmentalist," in awe of the natural world, and nature is the theme of much of his work. His poetic talent earned him access to Londonís literary circles, though his inferior social standing kept him from ever truly joining its ranks. Tragically, John spent the last twenty years of his life in a mental asylum, though he continued to write and produce poetry that some critics laud as some of the 19th centuryís best work. Learn more about John Clare here.

Post New Comment:
Great poem; sad bio.
Posted 11/06/2019 07:56 AM

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