John Clare Quotes
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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.
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Throw not my words away, as many do;They're gold in value, though they're cheap to you.
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I ne'er was struck before that hour with love so sudden and so sweet. Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower and stole my heart away complete
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Loud is the summer's busy song The smallest breeze can find a tongue, While insects of each tiny size Grow teasing with their melodies, Till noon burns with its blistering breath Around, and day lies still as death.
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I live here among the ignorant like a lost man in fact like one whom the rest seems careless of having anything to do with — they hardly dare talk in my company for fear I shoud mention them in my writings & I find more pleasure in wandering the fields then in mixing among my silent neighbours who are insensible of everything but toiling & talking of it & that to no purpose.
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He could not die when the trees were green, For he loved the time too well.
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And what is Life? - An hour-glass on the run
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Wildness is my suiting scene.
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I never saw so sweet a face. As that I stood before. My heart has left it dwelling place ... and can return no more.
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To-morrow comes, true copy of to-day,And empty shadow of what is to be;Yet cheated Hope on future still depends,And ends but only when our being ends.
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In mid-wood silence, thus, how sweet to be; Where all the noises, that on peace intrude, Come from the chittering cricket, bird, and bee, Whose songs have charms to sweeten solitude.
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The snow has left the cottage top; The thatch moss grows in brighter green; And eaves in quick succession drop, Where grinning icicles have been, Pit-patting with a pleasant noise In tubs set by the cottage door; While duck and geese, with happy joys, Plunge in the yard pond brimming over. The sun peeps through the window pane: Which children mark with laughing eye, And in the wet street steal again To tell each other spring is night.
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I am gennerally understood tho I do not use that awkward squad of pointings called commas colons semicolons etc.
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I am: yet what I am none cares or knows, My friends forsake me like a memory lost; I am the self-consumer of my woes, They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost; And yet I am, and live with shadows tost.
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For Nature is love, and finds haunts for true love, Where nothing can hear or intrude; It hides from the eagle and joins with the dove, In beautiful green solitude.
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The present is the funeral of the past, And man the living sepulchre of life.
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When trouble haunts me, need I sigh?No, rather smile away despair
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Love lives with Nature, not with lust. Go find her in the flowers.
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The best way to avoid a bad action is by doing a good one, for there is no difficulty in the world like that of trying to do nothing.
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Now musing o'er the changing scene Farmers behind the tavern screen Collect; with elbows idly press'd On hob, reclines the corner's guest, Reading the news to mark again The bankrupt lists or price of grain. Puffing the while his red-tipt pipe He dreams o'er troubles nearly ripe, Yet, winter's leisure to regale, Hopes better times, and sips his ale.
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Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rude / And flew to the silence of sweet solitude.
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While snow the window-panes bedim, The fire curls up a sunny charm, Where, creaming o'er the pitcher's rim, The flowering ale is set to warm; Mirth, full of joy as summer bees, Sits there, its pleasures to impart, And children, 'tween their parent's knees, Sing scraps of carols o'er by heart.
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I found the poems in the fields And only wrote them down
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I was Byron and Shakespeare formerly.
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Summer is a prodigal of joy. The grass Swarms with delighted insects as I pass, And crowds of grasshoppers at every stride Jump out all ways with happiness their guide; And from my brushing feet moths flit away In safer places to pursue their play. In crowds they start. I marvel, well I may, To see such worlds of insects in the way, And more to see each thing, however small, Sharing joy's bounty that belongs to all. And here I gather, by the world forgot, Harvests of comfort from their happy mood, Feeling God's blessing dwells in every spot And nothing lives but owes him gratitude.
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Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air; Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.
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Language has not the power to speak what love indites: The soul lies buried in the ink that writes.
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How oft a summer shower has started me; to seek the shelter of a hollow tree
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I long for scenes where man has never trod;... There to abide with my Creator, God.
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If life had a second edition, how I would correct the proofs.
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