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John Clare


I love thee, nature, with a boundless love,

The calm of earth, the storm of roaring woods;

The winds breathe happiness wher'er I rove,

There's life's own music in the swelling floods.

My heart is in the thunder-melting clouds,

The snow-capt mountain, and the rolling sea;

And hear ye not the voice where darkness shrouds

The heavens?   There lives happiness for me.

Death breaths its pleasures when it speaks of him;

My pulse beats calmer while his lightnings play.

My eye, with earth's delusion waxing dim,

Clear with the brightness of eternal day.

The elements crash round me:  it is he !

Calmly I hear his voice and never start.

From Eve's posterity I stand quite free,

Nor feel her curses rankle round my heart.

Love is not here.  Hope is, and at his voice ---

The rolling thunder and the roaring sea ---

My pulses leap, and with the hills rejoice;

Then strife and turmoil are at end for me,

No matter where life's ocean leads me on;

For nature is my mother, and I rest,

When tempests trouble and the sun is gone,

Like to a weary child upon her breast.


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