John Clare

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

John Clare Poems

1. A Vision 4/13/2010
2. A World For Love 4/13/2010
3. All Nature Has A Feeling 1/3/2003
4. An Invite, To Eternity 1/3/2003
5. Approaching Night 4/13/2010
6. Autumn 1/3/2003
7. Autumn Birds 1/3/2003
8. Badger 1/3/2003
9. Ballad 4/13/2010
10. Bantry Bay 4/13/2010
11. Birds In Alarm 4/13/2010
12. Bonny Lassie O! 4/13/2010
13. Bonny Mary O! 4/13/2010
14. Braggart 4/13/2010
15. Christmas 1/3/2003
16. Christmass 1/13/2003
17. Clock-O'-Clay 1/3/2003
18. Country Letter 4/13/2010
19. Death 4/13/2010
20. Decay 4/13/2010
21. Dewdrops 4/13/2010
22. Distant Hills 4/13/2010
23. Dyke Side 4/13/2010
24. Early Nightingale 1/3/2003
25. Early Spring 4/13/2010
26. Earth's Eternity 4/13/2010
27. Emmonsail's Heath In Winter 1/3/2003
28. Evening 1/3/2003
29. Evening Primrose 1/3/2003
30. Farewell 1/3/2003
31. Farewell And Defiance To Love 4/13/2010
32. Farm Breakfast 4/13/2010
33. Farmer's Boy 4/13/2010
34. Field Path 4/13/2010
35. First Love 1/3/2003
36. Firwood 4/13/2010
37. Fragment 4/13/2010
38. From 4/13/2010
39. From The Parish: A Satire 4/13/2010
40. Gipsies 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 Thrush's Nest

Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush
That overhung a molehill large and round,
I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush
Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound
With joy; and often, an intruding guest,
I watched her secret toil from day to day -
How true she warped the moss to form a nest,
And modelled it within with wood and clay;
And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew,

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