John Clare

(13 July 1793 – 20 May 1864 / Northamptonshire / England)

John Clare Poems

1. In Summer Showers A Skreeking Noise Is Heard 5/21/2015
2. The Universal Epitaph 10/20/2015
3. June 3/26/2015
4. The Badger 1/17/2015
5. Mouse's Nest 12/17/2014
6. The Cottager 4/13/2010
7. The Lout 4/13/2010
8. The Maid Of Ocram, Or, Lord Gregory 4/13/2010
9. The Lass With The Delicate Air 4/13/2010
10. The Frightened Ploughman 4/13/2010
11. Sunday Dip 4/13/2010
12. Farm Breakfast 4/13/2010
13. The Maid Of Jerusalem 4/13/2010
14. Spear Thistle 4/13/2010
15. Merry Maid 4/13/2010
16. Nobody Cometh To Woo 4/13/2010
17. Peggy's The Lady Of The Hall 4/13/2010
18. House Or Window Flies 4/13/2010
19. Impromptu 4/13/2010
20. Ploughman Singing 4/13/2010
21. The Sailor-Boy 4/13/2010
22. The Cellar Door 4/13/2010
23. Scandal 4/13/2010
24. The Crow Sat On The Willow 4/13/2010
25. The Old Cottagers 4/13/2010
26. Market Day 4/13/2010
27. Patty Of The Vale 4/13/2010
28. Song #3 4/13/2010
29. The Shepherd's Calendar - October 4/13/2010
30. Song #5 4/13/2010
31. The Shepherds Calendar - November 4/13/2010
32. Song #1 4/13/2010
33. Graves Of Infants 4/13/2010
34. Mary Bateman 4/13/2010
35. The Shepherd's Calendar - August 4/13/2010
36. The Shepherds Calendar - July (2nd Version) 4/13/2010
37. Pleasures Of Fancy 4/13/2010
38. In Hilly-Wood 4/13/2010
39. The Shepherd's Calendar - September 4/13/2010
40. Grasshoppers 4/13/2010
Best Poem of 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 ...

Read the full of I Am

The Shepherd's Tree

Huge elm, with rifted trunk all notched and scarred,
Like to a warrior's destiny! I love
To stretch me often on thy shadowed sward,
And hear the laugh of summer leaves above;
Or on thy buttressed roots to sit, and lean
In careless attitude, and there reflect
On times and deeds and darings that have been -
Old castaways, now swallowed in neglect, -
While thou art towering in thy strength of heart,

[Hata Bildir]