John Clare
Overview
John Clare was an English poet, born the son of a farm labourer who came to be known for his celebratory representations of the English countryside and his lamentation of its disruption. His poetry underwent a major re-evaluation in the late 20th century and he is often now considered to be among the most important 19th-century poets. His biographer Jonathan Bate
Jonathan Bate
Jonathan Bate CBE FBA FRSL is a British academic, biographer, critic, broadcaster, novelist and scholar of Shakespeare, Romanticism and Ecocriticism...

 states that Clare was "the greatest labouring-class poet that England has ever produced.
Quotations

And don't despise your betters cause they're old.

"The Cross Roads; or, The Haymaker's Story"

Throw not my words away, as many do;They're gold in value, though they're cheap to you.

"The Cross Roads; or, The Haymaker's Story"

And what's more wonderful, when big loads foilOne ant or two to carry, quickly thenA swarm flock round to help their fellow-men.

"The Ants"

In politics and politicians' liesThe modern farmer waxes wondrous wise;

"The Parish: A Satire"

When trouble haunts me, need I sigh? No, rather smile away despair;

"The Stranger"

I hid my love when young till ICouldn't bear the buzzing of a fly;I hid my love to my despiteTill I could not bear to look at light:I dare not gaze upon her faceBut left her memory in each place;Where eer I saw a wild flower lieI kissed and bade my love good bye.

"Secret Love"

I hid my love in field and townTill een the breeze would knock me down,The bees seemed singing ballads oer,The fly's bass turned a lion's roar;And even silence found a tongue,To haunt me all the summer long;The riddle nature could not proveWas nothing else but secret love.

"Secret Love"

O how I feel, just as I pluck the flowerAnd stick it to my breast — words can't reveal;But there are souls that in this lovely hourKnow all I mean, and feel whate'er I feel.

"Nature"

This world has suns, but they are overcast;This world has sweets, but they're of ling'ring bloom;Life still expects, and empty falls at last;Warm Hope on tiptoe drops into the tomb.

"Hope"

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.

"Hope"

 
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