richard mitchley - pleasure's past - john clare lyrics
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spring’s sweets they are not fled, though summer’s blossom
has met its blight of sadness, drooping low;
still flowers gone by find beds in memory’s bosom
life’s nursling buds among the weeds of woe
each pleasing token of spring’s early morning
warms with the pleasures which we once did know;
each little stem the leafy bank adorning
reminds of joys from infancy that flow
spring’s early heralds on the winter smiling
that often on their errands meet their doom
primrose and daisy, dreary hours beguiling
smile o’er my pleasures past whenе’er they come;
and thе speckt throstle never wakes his song
but life’s past spring seems melting from his tongue
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