‘Summer pleasures they are gone like to visions every one
And the cloudy days of autumn and of winter cometh on
I tried to call them back but unbidden they are gone
Far away from heart and eye and for ever far away.’
From Remembrances by John Clare (1793-1864)
The silver mist more slowly swims
And each green-bosomed valley dims,
And over the neighbouring meadow lies
Like half-seen visions by dim eyes.
Green trees look grey, bright waters black,
The lated crow has lost her track
And flies by guess her journey home:
She flops along and cannot see
Her peaceful nest on oddling tree.
The lark drops down and cannot meet
The taller black-grown clumps of wheat.
The mists that rise from heat of day
Fade field and meadow all away.
‘The Silver Mist’
(also by John Clare)
Poor sad john Clare, such a fine poet, such an unhappy man.
Thanks for your contribution.
I like this image Robert. A hint of colour left in the season. The blog continues to be interesting as ever
Thanks John, hope you got my new email address to which to send your own youtube notifications?
Best,
R
As far as I know, John Clare was an English poet and wrote about England. Are his poems suitable for Irish landscapes? Or they do not depend on where?
Sorry for my bad English.
Of course you are correct, Clare was an English poet – but good writing has global resonance, don’t you think?
And your English is faultless.
Thanks for your interest,
The Irish Aesthete.
Yes, true feelings and thougts have no boundaries.
I’m interesting in culture of British isles. Thank you for good words.