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John Clare - Mary Bateman
Work rating: Low

My love she wears a cotton plaid,
  A bonnet of the straw;
Her cheeks are leaves of roses spread,
  Her lips are like the haw.
In truth she is as sweet a maid
As true love ever saw.

Her curls are ever in my eyes,
  As nets by Cupid flung;
Her voice will oft my sleep surprise,
  More sweet then ballad sung.
O Mary Bateman`s curling hair!
I wake, and there is nothing there.

I wake, and fall asleep again,
  The same delights in visions rise;
There`s nothing can appear more plain
  Than those rose cheeks and those bright eyes.
I wake again, and all alone
Sits Darkness on his ebon throne.

All silent runs the silver Trent,
  The cobweb veils are all wet through,
A silver bead`s on every bent,
  On every leaf a bleb of dew.
I sighed, the moon it shone so clear;
Was Mary Bateman walking here?
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