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poet

John Clare

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poem
Farewell to the bushy clump close to the river
And the flags where the butter-bump hides in for ever; 
Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed in by waters;
Farewell to the miller's brook and his three bonny daughters;
Farewell to them all while in prison I lie—
In the prison a thrall sees nought but the sky.

Shut
poem
The Old Year's gone away
     To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
     Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
     In either shade or sun:
The last year he'd a neighbour's face,
     In this he's known by none.

All nothing everywhere:
     Mists we on mornings see
poem
Now swarthy Summer, by rude health embrowned,
Precedence takes of rosy fingered Spring;
And laughing Joy, with wild flowers prank'd, and crown'd,
      A wild and giddy thing,
And Health robust, from every care unbound,
      Come on the zephyr's wing,
      And cheer the toiling clown.

Happy as holiday-