Saturday, November 5, 2011

First Love, John Clare

My face turned pale as deadly pale,
my legs refused to walk away,
and when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my face
and took my eyesight quite away,
the trees and bushes round the place
seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
words from my eyes did start
they spoke as chords do from the string,
and blood burnt round my heart.

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