Morning.
By John Clare
O now the crimson east, its fire-streak burning, Tempts me to wander 'neath the blushing morn, Winding the zig-zag lane, turning and turning, As winds the crooked fence's wilder'd thorn. Where is the eye can gaze upon the blushes, Unmov'd, with which yon cloudless heaven flushes? I cannot pass the very bramble, weeping 'Neath dewy tear-drops that its spears surround, Like harlot's mockery on the wan cheek creeping, Gilding the poison that is meant to wound;-- I cannot pass the bent, ere gales have shaken Its transient crowning off, each point adorning,-- But all the feelings of my soul awaken, To own the witcheries of most lovely Morning.
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"O now the crimson east, its fire-streak burning,..."
This evocative piece by John Clare, titled "Morning.", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...