PoemI long for scenes where man hath never trod A place where woman never smiled or wept There to abide with my Creator God And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, Untroubling and untroubled where I lie The grass below, above, the vaulted sky.John Clare1848★ 3.5
PoemPale death, the grand physician, cures all pain; The dead rest well who lived for joys in vain.John Clare1841★ 1.9
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