John Clare

(13 July 1793 – 20 May 1864 / Northamptonshire / England)

John Clare Poems

1. June 3/26/2015
2. The Badger 1/17/2015
3. Mouse's Nest 12/17/2014
4. The Maid Of Ocram, Or, Lord Gregory 4/13/2010
5. The Lout 4/13/2010
6. The Lass With The Delicate Air 4/13/2010
7. The Frightened Ploughman 4/13/2010
8. Sunday Dip 4/13/2010
9. The Cottager 4/13/2010
10. Farm Breakfast 4/13/2010
11. The Shepherds Calendar - July (2nd Version) 4/13/2010
12. Idle Fame 4/13/2010
13. The Maid Of Jerusalem 4/13/2010
14. Merry Maid 4/13/2010
15. The Old Cottagers 4/13/2010
16. House Or Window Flies 4/13/2010
17. Impromptu 4/13/2010
18. Letter In Verse 4/13/2010
19. Nature's Hymn To The Deity 4/13/2010
20. Peggy's The Lady Of The Hall 4/13/2010
21. Ploughman Singing 4/13/2010
22. The Crow Sat On The Willow 4/13/2010
23. The Sailor-Boy 4/13/2010
24. Scandal 4/13/2010
25. The Shepherds Calendar - July 4/13/2010
26. The Cellar Door 4/13/2010
27. Market Day 4/13/2010
28. The Shepherd's Calendar - October 4/13/2010
29. Song #5 4/13/2010
30. The Fear Of Flowers 4/13/2010
31. The Shepherds Calendar - November 4/13/2010
32. Grasshoppers 4/13/2010
33. Graves Of Infants 4/13/2010
34. Mary Bateman 4/13/2010
35. In Hilly-Wood 4/13/2010
36. The Shepherd's Calendar - August 4/13/2010
37. Stonepit 4/13/2010
38. Now Is Past 4/13/2010
39. Pleasures Of Fancy 4/13/2010
40. From 4/13/2010
Best Poem of John Clare

I Am

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

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
And e'en the dearest--that I loved the best--
Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never ...

Read the full of I Am

The Shepherd's Tree

Huge elm, with rifted trunk all notched and scarred,
Like to a warrior's destiny! I love
To stretch me often on thy shadowed sward,
And hear the laugh of summer leaves above;
Or on thy buttressed roots to sit, and lean
In careless attitude, and there reflect
On times and deeds and darings that have been -
Old castaways, now swallowed in neglect, -
While thou art towering in thy strength of heart,

[Hata Bildir]