John Clare Quotes

If life had a second edition, how I would correct the proofs.

Love lives with Nature, not with lust. Go find her in the flowers.

I found the poems in the fields And only wrote them down

Language has not the power to speak what love indites: The soul lies buried in the ink that writes.

The best way to avoid a bad action is by doing a good one, for there is no difficulty in the world like that of trying to do nothing.

The present is the funeral of the past, And man the living sepulchre of life.

Summer is a prodigal of joy. The grass Swarms with delighted insects as I pass, And crowds of grasshoppers at every stride Jump out all ways with happiness their guide; And from my brushing feet moths flit away In safer places to pursue their play. In crowds they start. I marvel, well I may, To see such worlds of insects in the way, And more to see each thing, however small, Sharing joy's bounty that belongs to all. And here I gather, by the world forgot, Harvests of comfort from their happy mood, Feeling God's blessing dwells in every spot And nothing lives but owes him gratitude.

For Nature is love, and finds haunts for true love, Where nothing can hear or intrude; It hides from the eagle and joins with the dove, In beautiful green solitude.

And what is Life? - An hour-glass on the run

I ne'er was struck before that hour with love so sudden and so sweet. Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower and stole my heart away complete

Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air; Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;... There to abide with my Creator, God.

Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rude / And flew to the silence of sweet solitude.

I never saw so sweet a face. As that I stood before. My heart has left it dwelling place ... and can return no more.

I am gennerally understood tho I do not use that awkward squad of pointings called commas colons semicolons etc.

Ah, words are poor receipts for what time hath stole away.

I long for scenes where man has never trod; A place where woman never smil'd or wept; There to abide with my creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept: Untroubling and untroubled where I lie; The grass below--above the vaulted sky.

Wildness is my suiting scene.

Still, I have been no one's enemy but my own. My easy nature, either in drinking or anything else, was always ready to submit to persuasions of profligate companions, who often led me into snares.

He could not die when the trees were green, For he loved the time too well.

The thorn tree just began to bud And greening stained the sheltering hedge, An many a violet beside the wood Peeped blue between the withered sedge; The sun gleamed warm the bank beside, 'Twas pleasant wandering out a while Neath nestling bush to lonely hide, Or bend a musings o'er a stile.

And fairy month of waking mirth From whom our joys ensue Thou early gladder of the earth Thrice welcome here anew With thee the bud unfolds to leaves The grass greens on the lea And flowers their tender boon receives To bloom and smile with thee.

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems; And e'en the dearest--that I love the best-- Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.

To-morrow comes, true copy of to-day,And empty shadow of what is to be;Yet cheated Hope on future still depends,And ends but only when our being ends.

Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn Her death-bed steeps in tears; to hail the May New blooming blossoms neath the sun are born, And all poor April's charms are swept away.