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To-morrow comes, true copy of to-day,
And empty shadow of what is to be;
Yet cheated Hope on future still depends,
And ends but only when our being ends.

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More quotes by John Clare

The riddle nature could not prove
Was nothing else but secret love.

Arts may ply fantastic anatomy but nature is always herself in her wildest moods of extravagence.

The ivyed oaks dark shadow falls
Oft picking up with wondering gaze
Some little thing of other days
Saved from the wreck of time.

And don't despise your betters cause they're old.

Throw not my words away, as many do;
They're gold in value, though they're cheap to you.

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Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: John Clare (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.