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Decay

Rating: 3.3

O Poesy is on the wane,
For Fancy's visions all unfitting;
I hardly know her face again,
Nature herself seems on the flitting.
The fields grow old and common things,
The grass, the sky, the winds a-blowing;
And spots, where still a beauty clings,
Are sighing 'going! all a-going!'
O Poesy is on the wane,
I hardly know her face again.

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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Paul Sivell 18 September 2019

Sadly beautiful. A poem for our times

0 0 Reply
Brian Jani 22 May 2014

John Clare very well written poem I must say

2 4 Reply

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