Saturday Rave: The Shepherd's Calendar. December, by John Clare.

 Getting and spending we lay waste our powers, said Wordsworth.

But what if you're too poor either to get or spend? 

John Clare knew.

...& singers too a merry throng

At early morn with simple skill

Yet imitate the angels song

& chant their christmas ditty still

& mid the storm that dies & swells

By fits - in hummings softly steals

The music of the village bells

Ringing round their merry peals.

**

Christmas in John Clare's village is full of joy and love and celebration and art. Lots and lots of art. There are Morris dancers, a harlequin, carols, 

The clown-turnd-kings for penny praise

Storm wi the actors strut & swell

And there is plenty, too, plenty and warmth, just like summer:

While snows the window panes bedim

The fire curls up the sunny charm

Where creaming oer the pitchers rim

The flowering ale is set to warm

Mirth full of joy as summer bees

Sits there its pleasures ti impart

While children tween their parents knees

Sing scraps of carrols oer by heart

They made William Wordsworth Poet Laureate, and they locked John Clare up in an asylum.

I honour them both. 

But I love John Clare.

Word To Use Today: merry. In Old England this word was merige and it meant agreeable.