A poem by John Clare

Expression, throbbing utterance of the soul,
Born in some bard, when with the muses' fires
His feeling bursts unaw'd, above control,
And to the topmost height of heaven aspires,
Stealing the music of some angel's song
To tell of all he sees and all admires,
Which fancy's colours paint so sweet, so strong!--
And to far humbler scenes thou dost belong:
In Sorrow thou art warm, when speaking tears
Down some sad cheek in silence wail their wrong;
And, ah, most sweet, Expression, then appears
Thy smile of Gratitude, where bosoms bleed.
Though high the lofty poet's frenzy steers,
In nature's simplest garb thou'rt sweet indeed.

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