poet John Clare

John Clare

#90 on top 500 poets

To Mary

I sleep with thee, and wake with thee,
And yet thou art not there;
I fill my arms with thoughts of thee,
And press the common air.
Thy eyes are gazing upon mine,
When thou art out of sight;
My lips are always touching thine,
At morning, noon, and night.

I think and speak of other things
To keep my mind at rest:
But still to thee my memory clings
Like love in woman's breast.
I hide it from the world's wide eye,
And think and speak contrary;
But soft the wind comes from the sky,
And whispers tales of Mary.

The night wind whispers in my ear,
The moons shines in my face;
A burden still of chilling fear
I find in every place.
The breeze is whispering in the bush,
And the dews fall from the tree,
All sighing on, and will not hush,
Some pleasant tales of thee.

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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Comments about To Mary by John Clare

  • Jimmie ArringtonJimmie Arrington (12/4/2015 8:10:00 PM)

    I memorized this poem by reading it so many times. I love John Clare.

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  • Francis Sagnol (8/14/2006 6:37:00 AM)

    I adore Mary, it'll be even more wonderful if u could include insights of Mary: -}

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Rating Card

3,2 out of 5
53 total ratings
rate this poem



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Read poems about / on: memory, wind, woman, tree, sleep, fear, sky, night, world, women