John Clare
John Clare
John Clarewas an English poet, the son of a farm labourer, who came to be known for his celebratory representations of the English countryside and his lamentation of its disruption. His poetry underwent a major re-evaluation in the late 20th century, and he is now often considered to be among the most important 19th-century poets. His biographer Jonathan Bate states that Clare was "the greatest labouring-class poet that England has ever produced. No one has ever written more powerfully of...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth13 July 1793
Loud is the summer's busy song The smallest breeze can find a tongue, While insects of each tiny size Grow teasing with their melodies, Till noon burns with its blistering breath Around, and day lies still as death.
I hid my love when young till I Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly; I hid my life to my despite Till I could not bear to look at light: I dare not gaze upon her face But left her memory in each place; Where'er I saw a wild flower lie I kissed and bade my love good-bye.
I long for scenes where man has never trod; A place where woman never smil'd or wept; There to abide with my creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept: Untroubling and untroubled where I lie; The grass below--above the vaulted sky.
Language has not the power to speak what love indites: The soul lies buried in the ink that writes.
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We're all in this together for some period of time,
But we thought long and hard about this.
Love lies beyond / The tomb, the earth, which fades like dew! / I love the fond, / The faithful, and the true.
I am, as far as my politics reaches, 'King and Country' - no 'Innovations in Religion and Government' say I.
And all the charms of face or voice Which I in others see, Are but the recollected choice Of what I feel for thee.
I had a variety of minds about me and all of them unsettled.
I'm John Clare now. I was Byron and Shakespeare formerly.
He could not die when trees were green, for he loved the time too well.
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