Hereafter.

Ah, when this world and I have shaken hands,
And all the frowns of this sad life got through,
When from pale Care and Sorrow's dismal lands
I turn a welcome and a wish'd adieu;
How blest and happy, to eternal day,
To endless happiness without a pain,
Will my poor weary spirit sail away,
That long long look'd for "better place" to gain:
How sweet the scenes will open on her eye,
Where no more troubles, no more cares annoy;
All the sharp troubles of this life torn by,
And safely moor'd in heaven's eternal joy:
Sweet will it seem to Fate's oppressed worm,
As trembling Sunbeams creeping from the storm.

John Clare

John Clare was an English poet known for his celebrations of the English countryside and lamentation of its disruption. Born in Helpston, Northamptonshire, Clare was initially a farm laborer. His poetry is characterized by its natural imagery and rustic language. Despite periods of fame during his period, Clare spent the later part of his life in an asylum due to mental health issues. His works gained greater recognition posthumously. Clare's major poem collections include "Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery" and "The Shepherd's Calendar."

John Clare

Summer

John Clare, Simple Poetry

At The Foot Of Clifford Hill

John Clare, Simple Poetry

The Fox

John Clare, Simple Poetry

The Banks Of Ivory

John Clare, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Approaching Night

O take this world away from me;
Its strife I cannot bear to see,
Its very praises hurt me more
Than een its coldness did before,
Its hollow ways torment me now
And start a cold sweat on my brow,
Its noise I cannot bear to hear,
Its joy is trouble to my ear,
Its ways I cannot bear to see,
Its crowds are solitudes to me.
O, how I long to be agen
That poor and independent man,
With labour's lot from morn to night
And books to read at candle light;
That followed labour in the field
From light to dark when toil could yield
Real happiness with little gain,
Rich thoughtless health unknown to pain:
Though, leaning on my spade to rest,
I've thought how richer folks were blest
And knew not quiet was the best.

Go with your tauntings, go;

John Clare

On Death.

O life, thy name to me's a galling sound,
A sound I fain would wish to breathe no more;
One only peace for me my hopes have found,
When thy existence and wild race is o'er;
When Death, with one, heals every other wound,
And lays my aching head in the cold ground.
O happy hour! I only wish to have
Another moment's gasp, and then the grave.
I only wish for one departing sigh,
A welcome farewel take of all, and die.
Thou'st given me little, world, for thanks' return,
Thou tempst me little with thee still to 'bide:
One only cause in leaving thee I mourn,--
That I had e'er been born, nor in the cradle died.

John Clare

Fare Thee Well

[Clare's note:--"Scraps from my father and mother, completed."]

    Here's a sad good bye for thee, my love,
    To friends and foes a smile:
    I leave but one regret behind,
    That's left with thee the while,
    But hopes that fortune is our friend
    Already pays the toil.

    Force bids me go, your friends to please.
    Would they were not so high!
    But be my lot on land or seas,
    It matters not where by,
    For I shall keep a thought for thee,
    In my heart's core to lie.

    Winter shall lose its frost and snow,
    The spring its blossomed thorn,
    The summer all its bloom forego,
    The autumn hound and horn
    Ere I will lose that thought of thee,
    Or ever prove forsworn.

    The dove shall ...

John Clare

Invitation to Eternity

Say, wilt thou go with me, sweet maid,
Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me
Through the valley-depths of shade,
Of bright and dark obscurity;
Where the path has lost its way,
Where the sun forgets the day,
Where there's nor light nor life to see,
Sweet maiden, wilt thou go with me?

Where stones will turn to flooding streams,
Where plains will rise like ocean's waves,
Where life will fade like visioned dreams
And darkness darken into caves,
Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me
Through this sad non-identity
Where parents live and are forgot,
And sisters live and know us not?

Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me
In this strange death of life to be,
To live in death and be the same,
Without this life or home or name,
At once to be and not to...

John Clare

A Wish.

Be where I may when Death brings in his bill,
Demanding payment for life's ling'ring debt,
Or in my native village nestling still,
Or tracing scenes I've never known as yet,
O let one wish, go where I will, be mine,--
To turn me back and wander home to die,
'Mong nearest friends my latest breath resign,
And in the church-yard with my kindred lie,
'Neath the thick-shaded sycamore's decay,
Its broad leaves trembling to the breeze of day:
To see its shadow o'er my ashes wave,
How soothing will it be, while, hovering near,
My unseen spirit haunts its daisied grave,
Pausing on scenes in life once lov'd so dear.

John Clare

Farewell And Defiance To Love

Love and thy vain employs, away
From this too oft deluded breast!
No longer will I court thy stay,
To be my bosom's teazing guest.
Thou treacherous medicine, reckoned pure,
Thou quackery of the harassed heart,
That kills what it pretends to cure,
Life's mountebank thou art.

With nostrums vain of boasted powers,
That, ta'en, a worse disorder leave;
An asp hid in a group of flowers,
That bites and stings when few perceive;
Thou mock-truce to the troubled mind,
Leading it more in sorrow's way,
Freedom, that leaves us more confined,
I bid thee hence away.

Dost taunt, and deem thy power beyond
The resolution reason gave?
Tut! Falsity hath snapt each bond,
That kept me once thy quiet slave,
And made thy snare a spider's thread,
W...

John Clare