John Clare

I found the poems in the fields,

— John Clare

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;

— John Clare

I hid my love when young till I

— John Clare

If life had a second edition, how I would correct the proofs.

— John Clare

O words are poor receipts for what time hath stole away

— John Clare

And what is Life? — An hour-glass on the run,

— John Clare

And don't despise your betters cause they're old.

— John Clare

Throw not my words away, as many do;They're gold in value, though they're cheap to you.

— John Clare

And what's more wonderful, when big loads foilA swarm flock round to help their fellow-men.

— John Clare

In politics and politicians' liesThe modern farmer waxes wondrous wise;

— John Clare

When trouble haunts me, need I sigh? No, rather smile away despair;

— John Clare

I hid my love when young till II kissed and bade my love good bye.

— John Clare

I hid my love in field and townWas nothing else but secret love.

— John Clare

O how I feel, just as I pluck the flowerKnow all I mean, and feel whate'er I feel.

— John Clare

This world has suns, but they are overcast;Warm Hope on tiptoe drops into the tomb.

— John Clare

To-morrow comes, true copy of to-day,And ends but only when our being ends.

— John Clare

The ivyed oaks dark shadow fallsSaved from the wreck of time.

— John Clare

I love to see the old heath's withered brake

— John Clare

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,And yet I am, and live with shadows tost

— John Clare

I sleep with thee, and wake with thee,

— John Clare

Language has not the power to speak what love indites

— John Clare

I long for scenes where man hath never trod

— John Clare

O words are poor receipts for what time hath stole away

— John Clare

In crime and enmity they lie

— John Clare

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,

— John Clare

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;

— John Clare