O take this world away from me; <br />Its strife I cannot bear to see, <br />Its very praises hurt me more <br />Than een its coldness did before, <br />Its hollow ways torment me now <br />And start a cold sweat on my brow, <br />Its noise I cannot bear to hear, <br />Its joy is trouble to my ear, <br />Its ways I cannot bear to see, <br />Its crowds are solitudes to me. <br />O, how I long to be agen <br />That poor and independent man, <br />With labour's lot from morn to night <br />And books to read at candle light; <br />That followed labour in the field <br />From light to dark when toil could yield <br />Real happiness with little gain, <br />Rich thoughtless health unknown to pain: <br />Though, leaning on my spade to rest, <br />I've thought how richer folks were blest <br />And knew not quiet was the best. <br /> <br />Go with your tauntings, go; <br />Neer think to hurt me so; <br />I'll scoff at your disdain. <br />Cold though the winter blow, <br />When hills are free from snow <br />It will be spring again. <br /> <br />So go, and fare thee well, <br />Nor think ye'll have to tell <br />Of wounded hearts from me, <br />Locked up in your hearts cell. <br />Mine still at home doth dwell <br />In its first liberty. <br /> <br />Bees sip not at one flower, <br />Spring comes not with one shower, <br />Nor shines the sun alone <br />Upon one favoured hour, <br />But with unstinted power <br />Makes every day his own. <br /> <br />And for my freedom's sake <br />With such I'll pattern take, <br />And rove and revel on. <br />Your gall shall never make <br />Me honied paths forsake; <br />So prythee get thee gone. <br /> <br />And when my toil is blest <br />And I find a maid possest <br />Of truth that's not in thee, <br />Like bird that finds its nest <br />I'll stop and take my rest; <br />And love as she loves me.<br /><br />John Clare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/approaching-night/
