Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by John Clare

Quote by John Clare

“While snow the window-panes bedim, The fire curls up a sunny charm, Where, creaming o'er the pitcher's rim, The flowering ale is set to warm; Mirth, full of joy as summer bees, Sits there, its pleasures to impart, And children, 'tween their parent's knees, Sing scraps of carols o'er by heart.”

Quote by John Clare

Work

Delphi Complete Works of John Clare (Illustrated)

The Delphi Complete Works of John Clare (Illustrated) is a comprehensive compilation of the writings of John Clare, a notable figure in English literature. The book features his extensive body of poetry, including both his early and later works, as well as his prose and letters. The inclusion of illustrations adds a visual dimension to the text, enhancing the reader's experience of Clare's work. This volume is intended for students, scholars, and enthusiasts of 19th-century English poetry and literature. more

Author

John Clare
John Clare

John Clare, born on July 13, 1793, in England, was a renowned British Romantic poet. His poetry is known for its profound depiction of nature and its sympathy for the lives of farmers. more

You May Also Like

“Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying. Old year you must not die; You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year you shall not die.”

“The vineyard country, russet, reddish, carmine-brown in this season. A blue outline of hills above a fertile valley. It's warm as long as the sun does not set, in the shade cold returns. A strong sauna and then swimming in a pool surrounded by trees. Dark redwoods, transparent pale-leved birches. In their delicate network, a sliver of the moon. I describe this for I have learned to doubt philosophy And the visible world is all that remains.”

“Christmas is a time of little time. How we get there is a mystery. Racing madly mall-to-mall, we climb Into fields of sunlit harmony. Shopping, cooking, clearing walks and yards, Trimming house and tree while working, too; Making phone calls, wrapping, writing cards, As all worn out we do what we must do So that this day of joy might joy renew.”

“Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly, I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Leonore - For the rare and radiant maiden who the angels name Lenore - Nameless here for evermore.”