I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live like shadows tossed
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
And e'en the dearest —that I loved the best—
Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil'd or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below--above the vaulted sky.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
I am (Yo soy) → John Clare
PoesíaJohn Clare nació en Helpston, Northamptonshire, en 1793; murió en Northampton en 1864. Entre esas dos fechas conoció los rigores y las delicias de la vida rural, que cantó en muchos de sus poemas; la protección y el posterior abandono con que lo dis...
