"The grass below---above the vaulted sky."Today's doe watched me on the porch as I tried to get the camera to focus on her. It never really did. And now I have found the poem to go with her. It is also from Preferences: 51 American poets chose poems from the past and from their own work. I described that fine book here.
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 with shadows tost
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 smiled nor 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.
John Clare in Preferences; 51 American Poets . . . page 37