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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419416" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Decay</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Poesy is on the wane,<br>For Fancy's visions all unfitting;<br>I hardly know her face again,<br>Nature herself seems on the flitting.<br>The fields grow old and common things,<br>The grass, the sky, the winds a-blowing;<br>And spots, where still a beauty clings,<br>Are sighing 'going! all a-going!'<br>O Poesy is on the wane,<br>I hardly know her face again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bank with brambles overspread,<br>And little molehills round about it,<br>Was more to me than laurel shades,<br>With paths of gravel finely clouted;<br>And streaking here and streaking there,<br>Through shaven grass and many a border,<br>With rutty lanes had no compare,<br>And heaths were in a richer order.<br>But Poesy is on the wane,<br>I hardly know her face again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I sat beside the pasture stream,<br>When Beauty's self was sitting by,<br>The fields did more than Eden seem<br>Nor could I tell the reason why.<br>I often drank when not adry<br>To pledge her health in draughts divine;<br>Smiles made it nectar from the sky,<br>Love turned een water into wine.<br>O Poesy is on the wane,<br>I cannot find her face again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun those mornings used to find,<br>Its clouds were other-country mountains,<br>And heaven looked downward on the mind,<br>Like groves, and rocks, and mottled fountains.<br>Those heavens are gone, the mountains grey<br>Turned mist--the sun, a homeless ranger,<br>Pursues alone his naked way,<br>Unnoticed like a very stranger.<br>O Poesy is on the wane,<br>Nor love nor joy is mine again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Love's sun went down without a frown,<br>For very joy it used to grieve us;<br>I often think the West is gone,<br>Ah, cruel Time, to undeceive us.<br>The stream it is a common stream,<br>Where we on Sundays used to ramble,<br>The sky hangs oer a broken dream,<br>The bramble's dwindled to a bramble!<br>O Poesy is on the wane,<br>I cannot find her haunts again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mere withered stalks and fading trees,<br>And pastures spread with hills and rushes,<br>Are all my fading vision sees;<br>Gone, gone are rapture's flooding gushes!<br>When mushrooms they were fairy bowers,<br>Their marble pillars overswelling,<br>And Danger paused to pluck the flowers<br>That in their swarthy rings were dwelling.<br>Yes, Poesy is on the wane,<br>Nor joy nor fear is mine again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Aye, Poesy hath passed away,<br>And Fancy's visions undeceive us;<br>The night hath ta'en the place of day,<br>And why should passing shadows grieve us?<br>I thought the flowers upon the hills<br>Were flowers from Adam's open gardens;<br>But I have had my summer thrills,<br>And I have had my heart's rewardings.<br>So Poesy is on the wane,<br>I hardly know her face again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Friendship it hath burned away,<br>Like to a very ember cooling,<br>A make-believe on April day<br>That sent the simple heart a-fooling;<br>Mere jesting in an earnest way,<br>Deceiving on and still deceiving;<br>And Hope is but a fancy-play,<br>And Joy the art of true believing;<br>For Poesy is on the wane,<br>O could I feel her faith again!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Clare">John Clare</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419416" data-title="Decay de John Clare" data-description="O Poesy is on the wane,
For Fancy's visions all unfitting;
I hardly know her face again,
Nature herself seems on the flitting.
The fields grow old and common things,
The grass, the sky, the winds a-blowing;
And spots, where still a beauty clings,
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