Джон Клэр (John Clare)

Patty

Ye swampy falls of pasture ground,
  And rushy spreading greens;
Ye rising swells in brambles bound,
  And freedom’s wilder’d scenes;
I’ve trod ye oft, and love ye dear,
  And kind was fate to let me;
On you I found my all, for here
  ’Twas first my Patty met me.

Flow on, thou gently plashing stream,
  O’er weed-beds wild and rank;
Delighted I’ve enjoy’d my dream
  Upon thy mossy bank:
Bemoistening many a weedy stem,
  I’ve watched thee wind so clearly;
And on thy bank I found the gem
  That makes me love thee dearly.

Thou wilderness, so rudely gay;
  Oft as I seek thy plain,
Oft as I wend my steps away,
  And meet my joys again,
And brush the weaving branches by
  Of briars and thorns so matty;
So oft Reflection warms a sigh,--
  Here first I meet my Patty.

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