1 min read
Слушать(AI)The Secret
oI loved thee, though I told thee not,
Right earlily and long,
Thou wert my joy in every spot,
My theme in every song.
And when I saw a stranger
Where beauty held the claim,
I gave it like a secret
The being of thy name.
And all the charms of face or
Which I in others
Are but the recollected
Of what I felt for thee.o
John Clare
John Clare (13 July 1793 – 20 May 1864) was an English poet. The son of a farm labourer, he became known for his celebrations of the English cou
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Shepherds Calendar - May
Come queen of months in Wi all thy merry The restless cuckoo absent And twittering swallows chimney
What is Life
And what is Life An hour-glass on the run, A mist retreating from the morning sun, A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream
The Landrail
How sweet and pleasant grows the way Through summer time While Landrails call from day to Amid the grass and We hear it in the weeding
To John Clare
Well, honest John, how fare you now at home The spring is come, and birds are building nests; The old cock-robin to the sty is come, With olive feathers and its ruddy breast; And the old cock, with wattles and red comb, Struts with the hens, ...
