A Sigh, In A Play-Ground.
By John Clare
O happy spot! how much the sight of thee Wakes the endearments of my infancy: The very trees, through which the wild-winds sigh, Seem whispering now some joys of youth gone by; And each spot round, so sacred to my sight, Hints at some former moment of delight. Each object there still warmly seems to claim Tender remembrance of some childish game; Still on the slabs, before yon door that lie, The top seems spinning in fond memory's eye; And fancy's echo still yon field resounds With noise of blind-man's buff, and fox-and-hounds. Ah, as left rotting 'neath its mossy crown The pile stands sacred o'er some past renown, So thou, dear spot, though doubtless but to me, Art sacred from the joys possess'd in thee, That rose, and shone, and set--a sun's sojourn; As quick in speed,--alas, without return!
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"O happy spot! how much the sight of thee..."
John Clare's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "A Sigh, In A Play-Ground."... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...