I love to see the old heath's withered brake Mingle its crimpled leaves with furze and ling, While the old heron from the lonely lake Starts slow and… - John Clare

I sleep with thee, and wake with thee,
And yet thou are not there;
I fill my arms with thoughts of thee,
And press the common air.

The ivyed oaks dark shadow falls Oft picking up with wondering gaze Some little thing of other days Saved from the wreck of time.

Solitude

There is a charm in Solitude that cheers
A feeling that the world knows nothing of
A green delight the wounded mind endears
After the hustling world is broken off
Whose whole delight was crime at good to scoff
Green solitude his prison pleasure yields
The bitch fox heeds him not — birds seem to laugh
He lives the Crusoe of his lonely fields
Which dark green oaks his noontide leisure shields