John Clare

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

Comments about John Clare

  • Carol Genyea Kaplan (1/13/2019 5:00:00 PM)

    I won the John Clare prize in poetry twice through Academy of American Poets. So I love John Clare obviously.

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  • lajama (12/22/2018 10:49:00 AM)

    my best friend's step-sister makes $77 every hour on the computer. She has been without work for ten months but last month her check was $16080 just working on the computer for a few hours. Go to this web site and read more....www.geosalary.com

  • an anonymous guy in 3D (11/24/2018 8:53:00 AM)

    sup lads................................

  • Chuck Taylor (8/21/2018 3:48:00 PM)

    It's almost as if he was a modern poet, Clare, in poems like The Badger, . He doesn't use hollow rotund words, but gets to the nitty-gritty.

  • Roxanne Herrera Roxanne Herrera (6/11/2018 3:38:00 PM)

    https:m.poemhunter.compoemi-cant-be-sad check out my poems please ill really appreciate it.

  • Veronica-Mae (6/10/2018 6:59:00 AM)

    Oh dear - this poet (I am told) did not post any poems in the last 14 days! !

  • rahil (3/31/2018 12:31:00 AM)

    Add a comment dream

  • Donique thompson (3/28/2018 6:23:00 AM)

    Love your poems

  • ghcgv (1/9/2018 3:38:00 AM)

    he was a rubbish poet

  • Imogen c (12/12/2007 5:04:00 AM)

    his poems to me are only surpassed by shakespeare. i think that he is one of the very best english poets and the fact that he wasnt some weathly little snob who sat lazzaly scralling out his veiws on the world like alot of the classic english poets were makes him so much more importaint. he actualy experinced a bloody awfull life and it seems that it makes him more credable and more real i mean when he talks about suffering he realy knows what he is talking about he was a awsome guy and yeah

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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