Song: Love's Close.

    Now spring comes round again
    With blossom on the tree,
    Dark blossom of the peach,
    Light blossom of the pear
    And amorous birds complain
    And nesting birds prepare
    And love's keen fingers reach
    After the heart of me.

    But now the blackthorn blows
    About the dusty lane
    And new buds peep and peer,
    I have no joy at all,
    For love draws near its close
    And love's white blossoms fall
    And in the springing year
    Love's fingers bring me pain.

Edward Shanks

Edward Shanks was an English writer, poet, and novelist, known for his literary contributions during the early 20th century. Born on June 11, 1892, in London, Shanks attended Cambridge University where he was a member of the 'War Poets' of World War I. His works reflect the turmoil and changes of his time. Besides poetry, he wrote novels, essays, and book reviews, contributing significantly to English literature. He passed away on May 4, 1953.

Edward Shanks

Sonnets on Separation VI.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

Woman's Song

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

The Winter Soldier: The Dead Poet.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

A New Song about the Sea.

Edward Shanks, 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.

Song: Love in the Open Air.

    I'll love you in the open air
        But stuffy rooms and blazing fires
    And mirrors with familiar stare
        Cloak and befoul my high desires.

    The dearest day that I have known
        Was in the fields, when driving rain
    Was like a veil around us thrown,
        A grey close veil without a stain.

    The young oak-tree was stripped and bare
        But naked twigs a shelter made,
    Where curious cows came round to stare
        And stood astonished and dismayed.

    Let it be rain or summer sun,
        Smell of wet earth or scent of flowers,
    Love, once more give me, give me one
        Of these enchanted lover's hours.

Edward Shanks

To Jane

The lark's in the sky, love,
The flowers on the lea,
The whitethorn's in bloom, love,
To please thee and me;
'Neath its shade we can rest, love,
And sit on the hill,
And as last we met, love,
Enjoy the Spring still.

The Spring is for lovers,
The Spring is for joy:
O'er the moor, where the plovers
Whirr, startled, and cry,
We'll seek the white hawthorn, love,
And sit on the hill;
In the sweet sunny morn, love,
We'll be lovers still;

Where the partridge is craking
From morning to e'en,
In the wheat lands awaking,
The sprouts young and green,
Where the brook dribbles past, love,
Down the willowy glen,
And as we met last, love,
Be lovers again.

The lark's in the grass, love,
A-building her nest;
A...

John Clare

Early Love

The Spring of life is o'er with me,
And love and all gone by;
Like broken bough upon yon tree,
I'm left to fade and die.
Stern ruin seized my home and me,
And desolate's my cot:
Ruins of halls, the blasted tree,
Are emblems of my lot.

I lived and loved, I woo'd and won,
Her love was all to me,
But blight fell o'er that youthful one,
And like a blasted tree
I withered, till I all forgot
But Mary's smile on me;
She never lived where love was not,
And I from bonds was free.

The Spring it clothed the fields with pride,
When first we met together;
And then unknown to all beside
We loved in sunny weather;
We met where oaks grew overhead,
And whitethorns hung with may;
Wild thyme beneath her feet was spread,
And cows in ...

John Clare

Song Of Spring

    On every bush are roses blooming, everywhere the nightingale
    To his love again is warbling plaintively his oft-told tale.
    Now within our balmy garden dances the tall cypress tree,
    And the poplar never ceases clapping his slim hands in glee.
    From the height of every bough-tip you can hear the turtle sing,
    With loud voice proclaiming gaily the glad coming of the spring.
    On the head of the narcissus gleams as bright his diadem,
    As the crown of China's Emperor decked with many a costly gem.
    Here the west wind, there the north wind, in true token of their love,
    At the feet of yonder rose lay treasure poured down from above.
    All the earth with musk is scented, and musk-laden is the air.
    Everything proclaims that daily now draws nearer spring t...

Helen Leah Reed

An Old Song.

    The wild duck fly over
        From river to river
    And so the young lover
        Goes roving for ever.

    They fly together,
        He walks alone:
    No maiden can tether
        Him with her moan.

    At the bursting of blossom
        On her breast his head;
    He has left her bosom
        Ere the apples are red.

    Across the valley,
        Singing he goes.
    In highway and alley
        He seeks a new rose.

    Tell me, O maidens,
        You who all day
    In lyrical cadence
        Dance and play,

    Why do you proffer
        Your sweets to one,
    Who takes all you offer
        And leaves you to moan?

Edward Shanks

Among The Green Bushes

Among the green bushes the songs of the thrushes
Are answering each other in music and glee,
While the magpies and rooks, in woods, hedges, near brooks,
Mount their Spring dwellings on every high tree.
There meet me at eve, love, we'll on grassy banks lean love,
And crop a white branch from the scented may tree,
Where the silver brook wimples and the rosy cheek dimples,
Sweet will the time of that courting hour be.

We'll notice wild flowers, love, that grow by thorn bowers, love,
Though sinful to crop them now beaded with dew;
The violet is thine, love, the primrose is mine, love,
To Spring and each other so blooming and true.
With dewdrops all beaded, the feather grass seeded,
The cloud mountains turn to dark woods in the sky;
The daisy bud closes, while sleep th...

John Clare