| John Clare 1793-1864 |
| Oft will he stoop, inquisitive to trace
The opening beauties of a daisy�s face Oft will he witness, with admiring eyes, The brook�s sweet dimples o�er the pebbles rise; And often bent, as o�er some magic spell, He�ll pause and pick his shaped stone and shell Raptures the while his Inward powers inflame, And joys delight him which he cannot name. Thus pausing wild on all he saunters by, He feels enraptured, though he knows not why; And hums and mutters o�er his joys in vain, And dwells on something which he can�t explain. The bursts of thought with which his soul�s perplexed, Are bred one moment, and are gone the next; Yet still the heart will kindling sparks retain, And thoughts will rise, and Fancy strive again. |
| The Dawnings Of Youthful Genius In A Ploughboy. |
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