Stamford
A town in Lincolnshire, England.
Peasant poet's favourite Pub
Contains two poems by John Clare (1793-1864)

First Sight of Spring

The Hazel blooms, in threads of crimson hue,
Peep through the swelling buds and look for spring
Ere yet a whitehorn leaf appears in view
Or March finds throstles pleased enough to sing
On the old touchwood tree woodpeckers cling
A moment and their harsh-toned notes renew.
In happier mode the stockdove claps his wing
The squirrel sputters up the powdered oak
With tail cocked o'er his head and ears correct
Startled to hear the woodman's understroke
And with the courage that his fears collect
He hisses fierce, half malice and half glee,
Leaping from branch to branch about the tree
In Winters' foilage moss and lichens drest
Spring cometh in with all her hues and smells
In freshness breathing over hills and dells
O'er woods where May her gorgeous drapery flings
And meads washed fragrant with their laughing springs
Fresh as new-opened flowers untouched and free
From the bold rifling of the amorous bee
The happy time of singing birds is come
And love's lone pilgrimage now finds a home
Among the mossy oaks coos the dove
And the hoarse crow finds softer notes for love
The foxes play around their dens and bark
In joy's excess mid woodland shadows dark
And flowers join lips below and leaves above
And every sound that meets the ear is love

 

The Invitation

Let us go in the fields love and see the green tree
Let's go in the meadows and hear the wild bee
There's plenty of pleasure for you love and me
In the mirths and the music of nature
We can stand in the path love and hear the birds sing
And see the woodpigeons snap loud on the wing
While you stand beside me a beautiful thing
Health and beauty in every feature

We can stand by the brig-foot and see the bright things
On the sun-shining water that merrily springs 
Like sparkles of fire in their mazes and rings
While the insects are glancing and twitters
You see naught in shape but hear a deep song
That lasts through the sunshine the whole summer long
That pierces the ear as the heat gathers strong
And the lake like a burning fire glitters

We can stand in the fields love and gaze o'er the corn
See the lark from her wing shake the dews of the morn
Through the dew-bearded woodbine the gale is just born
And there we can wander my dearie
We can walk by the wood and where the rabbits pop in
Where the bushes are few and the hedge gapped and thin
There's a wild-rosy bower and a place to rest in
So we can walk in and rest when we're weary

The skylark, my love, from the barley is singing
The hare from her seat of wet clover is springing
The crow to its nest on the tall elm swinging
Bears a mouthful or worms for its young
We'll down the green meadow and up the lone glen
And down the woodside far away from all men
And there we'll talk over our love tales again
Where last year the nightingale sung
 

John Clare (1793-1864)

 
 

Back to Stamford index