I was working on an article about horticultural holidays and came across this blog devoted to
John Clare (1793-1864). He stands alongside Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, Keats, Browning and Tennyson; though sadly, it is only in recent years that the quality of his work has been given due recognition. Known as the gardeners' poet, the blog features daily excerpts from his work.
Evening Primrose
When once the sun sinks in the west,
And dewdrops pearl the evening's breast;
Almost as pale as moonbeams are,
Or its companionable star,
The evening primrose opes anew
Its delicate blossoms to the dew;
And, hermit-like, shunning the light,
Wastes its fair bloom upon the night,
Who, blindfold to its fond caresses,
Knows not the beauty it possesses;
Thus it blooms on while night is by;
When day looks out with open eye,
Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun,
It faints and withers and is gone.
John Clare
