John Clare (1793-1864) Poem by John A. Hancock

Of poverty's bane a timid boy reaped
The poetic Clare knew only grief
Illness condemning a family to parish relief
Potatos and gruel kind charity's meat
Working ere the break of dawn
Weakened from hunger still he press'd on
Yet between labour's wearisome test
Sought he a tranquil place to rest
Filling scraps of paper in rough penciled lines
Odes of nature and pathos in sentimental rhymes
Preserving in verse pleasant scenes of the shire
Of Helpston's beauty ne'er could he tire
Oft treading miles to touch horizon's sky
But always returning where his heart truly lie
Left to scribble muses in an asylum alone
Only in thought could Clare freely roam
And when his soul departed thus setting him free
At Helpston was he buried beneath a scyamore tree
Nature herself writing his epitaph were he lie
The grass below above vault'd sky