John Clare - The Meeting - Read by David Barnes
by John Clare (1793-1864)
Here we meet, too soon to part,
Here will absence raise a smart,
Here I'll press thee to my heart,
Where none's a place above thee.
Here to say I love thee well,
Had but words the power to spell,
Had but language strength to tell,
I would say how I love thee.
Here, the rose that decks thy door,
Here, the thorn that spreads thy bower,
Here, the willow on the moor,
The birds that rest above thee,
Had they thoughts and eyes to see,
Sense and looks like thee and me,
Quickly would they prove to thee
How dotingly I love thee.
And by the night-sky's purple ether,
And by the even's sweetest weather,
That oft has blest us both together,
The moon that shines above thee,
And shows thy beauty face so blooming,
And by pale age's winter coming,
The charms and casualties of woman,
I will for ever love thee.