First Love
By John Clare
I ne’er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.
And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start —
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.
Are flowers the winter’s choice?
Is love’s bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love’s appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more
Maverick Mist 
oh i do love them British writers. They hav to be the most romantic writers, I beieve.
This is soooo lovely and perfect description of the smitten heart.
I wonder if their long winters helped create their masterpieces? lol…not much to do but sit by the fire and be longing during the longest hours. 🙂
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I agree, the Brit romantics were the best. There was a period of social change with people migrating from the countryside to the crowded cities because of industrialization. Perhaps they had more time and being closer to more people created more romance. Although you’re probably right in that the miserable weather and long winters could have contributed many a verse. I figure this is a good week to look at a few of the passionate logs they threw on the fire. 🙂
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