elevated happiness.
5 Mere books would be but useless things Where none had taste or mind to read, Like unknown lands where beauty springs And none are there to heed.
But poesy is a language meet,0 suitable, proper
10 And fields are every one's employ;0 concern The wild flower 'neath the shepherd's feet Looks up and gives him joy;
A language that is ever green, That feelings unto all impart,
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85 4 / JOHN CLARE
IS As hawthorn blossoms, soon as seen, Give May to every heart. 20The pictures that our summer minds In summer's dwellings meet; The fancies that the shepherd finds To make his leisure sweet; The dust mills that the cowboy delves In banks for dust to run,1 Creates a summer in ourselves? He does as we have done. 25 An image to the mind is brought, Where happiness enjoys An easy thoughtlessness of thought And meets excess of joys. soThe world is in that little spot With him?and all beside Is nothing, all a life forgot, In feelings satisfied. 35And such is poesy; its power May varied lights employ, Yet to all minds it gives the dower Of self-creating joy. 40And whether it be hill or moor, I feel where'er I go A silence that discourses more That any tongue can do. Unruffled quietness hath made A peace in every place, And woods are resting in their shade Of social loneliness. 45 The storm, from which the shepherd turns To pull his beaver0 down, While he upon the heath sojourns, Which autumn pleaches0 brown, beaver hat bleaches 50Is music, aye, and more indeed To those of musing mind Who through the yellow woods proceed And listen to the wind. 55The poet in his fitful glee And fancy's many moods Meets it as some strange melody, And poem of the woods.
I. The boy tending the cows has (as an amusement) dug miniature millstreams in the dirt.
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PASTORAL POESY / 85 5
It sings and whistles in his mind, And then it talks aloud, While by some leaning tree reclined
60 He shuns a coming cloud,
That sails its bulk against the sun, A mountain in the light? He heeds not for the storm begun But dallies with delight.
65 And now a harp that flings around The music of the wind, The poet often hears the sound When beauty fills the mind.
The morn with saffron0 strips and gray, orange-yellow
7o Or blushing to the view, Like summer fields when run away In weeds of crimson hue,
Will simple shepherds' hearts imbue With nature's poesy, 75 Who inly fancy while they view How grand must heaven be.
With every musing mind she steals Attendance2 on their way; The simplest thing her heart reveals
so Is seldom thrown away.
The old man, full of leisure hours, Sits cutting at his door Rude fancy sticks to tie his flowers ?They're sticks and nothing more
85 With many passing by his door? But pleasure has its bent;? inclination With him 'tis happiness and more, Heart satisfied content.
Those box-edged borders that impart
90 Their fragrance near his door Hath been the comfort of his heart For sixty years and more.
That mossy thatch above his head In winter's drifting showers 95 To him and his old partner made A music many hours.
2. She (nature) demands attention (to her beauties).
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85 6 / JOH N CLAR E 100It patted to their hearts a joy3 That humble comfort made? A little fire to keep them dry And shelter over head. And such no matter what they call Each all are nothing less Than poesy's power that gives to all A cheerful blessedness. 105 So would I my own mind employ, And my own heart impress, That poesy's self's a dwelling joy Of humble quietness. So would I for the biding0 joy110 That to such thoughts belong, That I life's errand may employ As harmless as a song. abiding, lasting 1824-32 1935
[Mouse's Nest]
I found a ball of grass among the hay And progged0 it as I passed and went away; prodded And when I looked I fancied something stirred, And turned again and hoped to catch the bird? 5 When out an old mouse bolted in the wheat With all her young ones hanging at her teats; She looked so odd and so grotesque to me, I ran and wondered what the thing could be, And pushed the knapweed1 bunches where I stood, 10 When the mouse hurried from the crawling brood. The young ones squeaked, and when I went away She found her nest again among the hay. The water o'er the pebbles scarce could run And broad old cesspools2 glittered in the sun.
1835-37 1935
A Vision
I lost the love of heaven above; I spurn'd the lust of earth below; I felt the sweets of fancied love,? And hell itself my only foe.
3. The patter of the rain on the thatch (lines 93? 1. A plant with knobs of purple flowers. 94) enhanced the comfort of the fire and shelter 2. Low spots where water has collected, indoors.
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