I Pass by in Silence

John Clare

I talk to the birds as they sing i'the morn,

The larks and the sparrows that spring from the corn,

The chaffinch and linnet that sing in the bush,

Till the zephyr-like breezes all bid me to hush;

Then silent I go and in fancy I steal

A kiss from the lips of a name I conceal;

But should I meet her I've cherished for years,

I pass by in silence, in fondness and tears.

Yes, I pass her in silence and say not a word,

And the noise of my footsteps may scarcely be heard;

I scarcely presume to cast on her my eye,

And then for a week I do nothing but sigh.

If I look on a wild flower I see her face there;

There it is in its beauty, all radiant and fair;

And should she pass by, I've nothing to say,

We are both of us silent and have our own way.

I talk to the birds, the wind and the rain;

My love to my dear one I never explain;

I talk to the flowers which are growing all wild,

As if one was herself and the other her child;

I utter sweet words in my fanciful way,

But if she comes by I've nothing to say;

To look for a kiss I would if I dare,

But I feel myself lost when near to my fair.