John Clare, the great nature poet, was born in 1793. Perhaps it should not be so surprising that a photograph of him exists, but it still seems strange.
Anyway, that photograph was recently sold for £3600 - thanks to dumbfoundry for the lead.
While we are discussing John Clare...
I am!
I am! yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
And e'en the dearest--that I loved the best--
Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.
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.
John Clare
1 comment:
One of my favourite poems! John Clare was a very earthy, organic sort of bloke I think, and sadly under-rated these days.
Post a Comment