The Flood

 I thought my true love slept; 
Behind her chair I crept 
And pulled out a long pin; 
The golden flood came out, 
She shook it all about, 
With both our faces in.
Ah! little wren, I know Your mossy, small nest now A windy, cold place is; No eye can see my face, Howe'er it watch the place Where I half drown in bliss.
When I am drowned hald dead, She laughs and shakes her head; Flogged by her hair-waves, I Withdraw my face from there; But never once, I swear, She heard a mercy cry.

Poem by
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - The FloodEmail Poem | Create an image from this poem

Poems are below...

Top John Clare Poems

Analysis and Comments on The Flood

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem The Flood here.