OLD April wanes, and her last dewy morn
Her death-bed steeps in tears: -to hail the May
New blooming blossoms 'neath the sun are born,
And all poor April's charms are swept away.
The early primrose, peeping once so gay,
Is now chok'd up with many a mounting weed,
And the poor violet we once admir'd
Creeps in the grass unsought for -flowers succeed,
Gaudy and new, and more to be desired,
And of the old the school-boy seemeth tired.
So with us all, poor April, as with thee!
Each hath his day; -the future brings my fears:
Friends may grow weary, new flowers rising be,
And my last end, like thine, be steep'd in tears.
John Clare (1793-1864)
2 comments:
Nice choice, ranting stan; one can never tell from delightful writing such as this, that Clare ended his days in a lunatic asylum.
A piece that might appeal to you, and is apposite to these times, is: The Unknown Citizen, by W H Auden.
Give it a read. It's good.
Clare is one of my favourite poets - he wrote some beautiful stuff that came straight from the heart. I could quite easily just post poems from Clare and Kipling - and frequently have to stop myself from doing so.
I'll have to feature Unknown Citizen one day - though I'm not a big fan of Auden.
Post a Comment