JohnClare
Italktothebirdsastheysingi'themorn,
Thelarksandthesparrowsthatspringfromthecorn,
Thechaffinchandlinnetthatsinginthebush,
Tillthezephyr-likebreezesallbidmetohush;
ThensilentIgoandinfancyIsteal
AkissfromthelipsofanameIconceal;
ButshouldImeetherI'vecherishedforyears,
Ipassbyinsilence, infondnessandtears.
Yes, Ipassherinsilenceandsaynotaword,
Andthenoiseofmyfootstepsmayscarcelybeheard;
Iscarcelypresumetocastonhermyeye,
AndthenforaweekIdonothingbutsigh.
IfIlookonawildflowerIseeherfacethere;
Thereitisinitsbeauty, allradiantandfair;
Andshouldshepassby, I'venothingtosay,
Wearebothofussilentandhaveourownway.
Italktothebirds, thewindandtherain;
MylovetomydearoneIneverexplain;
Italktotheflowerswhicharegrowingallwild,
Asifonewasherselfandtheotherherchild;
Iuttersweetwordsinmyfancifulway,
ButifshecomesbyI'venothingtosay;
TolookforakissIwouldifIdare,
ButIfeelmyselflostwhenneartomyfair.
