'Tis Spring, My Love, 'Tis Spring

John Clare 1793 (Helpston) – 1864 (St Andrew's Hospital)



'T is Spring, my love, 'tis Spring,
And the birds begin to sing:
If 'twas Winter, left alone with you,
Your bonny form and face
Would make a Summer place,
And be the finest flower that ever grew.
  
'T is Spring, my love, 'tis Spring,
And the hazel catkins hing,
While the snowdrop has its little blebs of dew;
But that's not so white within
As your bosom's hidden skin--
That sweetest of all flowers that ever grew.
  
The sun arose from bed,
All strewn with roses red,
But the brightest and the loveliest crimson place
Is not so fresh and fair,
Or so sweet beyond compare,
As thy blushing, ever smiling, happy face.
  
I love Spring's early flowers,
And their bloom in its first hours,
But they never half so bright or lovely seem
As the blithe and happy grace
Of my darling's blushing face,
And the happiness of love's young dream.
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Submitted on August 03, 2020

Modified on April 25, 2023

48 sec read
31

Quick analysis:

Scheme Aabccb Aabddb eecffc gghcch
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 811
Words 156
Stanzas 4
Stanza Lengths 6, 6, 6, 6

John Clare

John Clare was an English poet in his time he was commonly known as the Northamptonshire Peasant Poet more…

All John Clare poems | John Clare Books

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