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Poem by John Clare
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All nature has a feeling: woods, fields, brooks Are life eternal: and in silence they Speak happiness beyond the reach of books; There's nothing mortal in them; their decay Is the green life of change; to pass away And come again in blooms revivified. Its birth was heaven, eternal it its stay, And with the sun and moon shall still abide Beneath their day and night and heaven wide.
John Clare's other poems:
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