My last choice of a love poem from the beautiful collection Asylum Poems by John Clare. Soft and gentle, full of flowers and nature’s beauties, it smiles with words of love.
John Clare: Where She Told Her Love
I saw her crop a rose
Right early in the day,
And I went to kiss the place
Where she broke the rose away
And I saw the patten rings
Where she oer the stile had gone,
And I love all other things
Her bright eyes look upon.
|If she looks upon the hedge or up the leafing tree,
The whitethorn or the brown oak are made dearer things to me.
I have a pleasant hill
Which I sit upon for hours,
Where she cropt some sprigs of thyme
And other little flowers;
And she muttered as she did it
As does beauty in a dream,
And I loved her when she hid it
On her breast, so like to cream,
|Near the brown mole on her neck that to me a diamond shone
Then my eye was like to fire, and my heart was like to stone.
There is a small green place
Where cowslips early curled,
Which on Sabbath day I trace,
The dearest in the world.
A little oak spreads oer it,
And throws a shadow round,
A green sward close before it,
The greenest ever found:
|There is not a woodland nigh nor is there a green grove,
Yet stood the fair maid nigh me and told me all her love.
Source of the poem: Poems Chiefly from Manuscript by John Clare, copied from the Project Gutenberg ebook; a slightly different version is given in Life and Remains of John Clare, The “Northamptonshire Peasant Poet” by John Clare, in a Project Gutenberg ebook; see also the digitization of the originals on Internet Archive.
Images used: Alexander Averin Art, from annacatharina.centerblog.net — Michael G. Laster, Spring Fever, from Childhood in Art — Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Irène Cahen d’Anvers (ca 1880), from Wikimedia Commons.