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O how I feel, just as I pluck the flower
And stick it to my breast — words can't reveal;
But there are souls that in this lovely hour
Know all I mean, and feel whate'er I feel.

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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.