Life and Remains of John Clare, The "Northamptonshire Peasant Poet"

Unaffected simplicity is the everyday picture of Nature. Thus, little children's favourites of "Cock Robin," "Little Red Riding Hood," and "Babes in the Wood," have impressions...

There is little doubt that by the closing hint Mr. Taylor desired to put Clare on his guard against the indiscreet hospitality of well-to-do friends at Stamford. While the "Vill...

You see in what a brotherly way I commence my letter: not with the frigid 'Sir' as if I were addressing one of a totally unkindred clay, one of the drossy children of earth, wit...

Where I plucked thee the bluebell, 'T was where the night dew fell, And rested till morn in the cups of the flowers; I shook the sweet posies, Bluebells and brere roses, As we s...

"It is not yet too late: although he has given indications of a brain breaking up, a very envied celebrity may be obtained by some wealthy and good Samaritan who would rescue hi...

"I was yesterday obliged to receive a whole family of foreigners to dinner. I now hasten, my dear Clare, to entreat you will not allow your kind resolves of coming to visit us t...

Arise, my Isabel, arise! The sun shoots forth his early ray, The hue of love is in the skies, The birds are singing, come away! O come, my Isabella, come, With inky tendrils han...

Yet happy love, that warms the heart Through darkest storms severe, Keeps many a tender flower to start When Spring shall re-appear. Affection's hope shall roses meet, Like thos...

"The following stanzas are supposed to have been addressed to Milton by his friend and contemporary, Sir William Davenant. We cannot vouch for their authenticity, but for their...

As we have traced the poet's history down to his sixteenth year, the next incident of importance may be anticipated: of course he fell in love, and the object of his first and p...

Is pomp thy heart's desire? Is power thy climbing aim? Is love thy folly's fire? Is wealth thy restless game? Pomp, power, love, wealth, and all Time's touchstone shall destroy,...

Some time ago I received from you certain verses said to be copied from the fly-leaves of an old printed book on which they were written. The title was 'The Vanity of Life,' and...

Among the papers which John Clare, the "Peasant Poet" of our county, left behind him, was one in which he desired that the Editor of his "Remains" should dedicate them "to Earl...

And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run, A mist retreating from the morning sun, A busy, bustling, still repeated dream; Its length?--A minute's pause, a moment's thought; An...

You ask me for literary news. I have very little of a kind likely to interest you. Have you seen in the 'Edinburgh Review' an account of some poems by Elliott, a Sheffield workm...

So father he may glower and frown, And mother scold about it; The shepherd has my heart to keep, And can I live without it? I'm sure he will not part with it, In spite of what t...