Selected Poems of John Clare
Volume 1
Volume 1
The Heath
O I love the dear wild and the outstretching heath
With its sweet swelling uplands and downs
When I toil up the path till Im half out of breath
While the oakwood the distance embrowns
With the first hues of spring -- and the mossy thorn tree
Shines in its most delicate hue
And the long withered grass reaching up to my knee
Rustles loud as my feet brushes through
Where the furze on the slopes turn from green into gold
With their millions of blossoms -- and Ling
Blushing red underneath is most sweet to behold
Where the woodlark sits pruning her wing
Such a freshness comes round from the wide spreading air
Such a smell from the blossoms beneath
Such a beautiful something refreshes me there
While I ramble about on the heath
The old hills that for a mans lifetime hath stood
Unmolested mid brushes and burrs
The worn ways leading along to the wood
And the rabbit tracks into the furze
There nought but a shepherd cries 'whoop' to his sheep
Or a herdsman hails 'hoi' to his cows
And the noise of the waggoner trailing the steep
While crossing the pudges and sloughs
Oft standing to rest them and then with a smack
Of his whip driving onward again
While the wood in an eccho repeateth the crack
And the load of wood creaks on the wain
Though simple to some I delight in the sight
Of such objects that bring unto me
A picture of picturesque joy and delight
Where beauty and harmony be
O I love at my heart to be strolling along
Oer the heath a new impulse to find
While I hum to the wind in a ballad or song
Some fancy that starts in the mind
All seem so delightful and bring to the mind
Such quiet and beautiful joys
That the mind when its weary like hermits may find
A retreat from earths follys and noise
O I love the dear wild and the outstretching heath
With its sweet swelling uplands and downs
When I toil up the path till Im half out of breath
While the oakwood the distance embrowns
With the first hues of spring -- and the mossy thorn tree
Shines in its most delicate hue
And the long withered grass reaching up to my knee
Rustles loud as my feet brushes through
Where the furze on the slopes turn from green into gold
With their millions of blossoms -- and Ling
Blushing red underneath is most sweet to behold
Where the woodlark sits pruning her wing
Such a freshness comes round from the wide spreading air
Such a smell from the blossoms beneath
Such a beautiful something refreshes me there
While I ramble about on the heath
The old hills that for a mans lifetime hath stood
Unmolested mid brushes and burrs
The worn ways leading along to the wood
And the rabbit tracks into the furze
There nought but a shepherd cries 'whoop' to his sheep
Or a herdsman hails 'hoi' to his cows
And the noise of the waggoner trailing the steep
While crossing the pudges and sloughs
Oft standing to rest them and then with a smack
Of his whip driving onward again
While the wood in an eccho repeateth the crack
And the load of wood creaks on the wain
Though simple to some I delight in the sight
Of such objects that bring unto me
A picture of picturesque joy and delight
Where beauty and harmony be
O I love at my heart to be strolling along
Oer the heath a new impulse to find
While I hum to the wind in a ballad or song
Some fancy that starts in the mind
All seem so delightful and bring to the mind
Such quiet and beautiful joys
That the mind when its weary like hermits may find
A retreat from earths follys and noise
Poems
chosen by David Barnes from
Oxford World Classics: John Clare Major Works, and recorded for LibriVox.org
Oxford World Classics: John Clare Major Works, and recorded for LibriVox.org
