The "Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery" were about seventy in number, including twenty-one sonnets. The volume opened with an apostrophe to Helpstone, in the manner of Goldsmith, and among the longer pieces were "The Fate of Amy," "Address to Plenty in Winter," "Summer Morning," "Summer Evening," and "Crazy Nell." The minor pieces included the sonnet "To the Primrose," already quoted, "My love, thou art a Nosegay sweet," and "What is Life?", a reflective poem produced under circumstances with which the reader has been made acquainted. The compositions last named are inserted here as examples of Clare's style at this early period of his career:-- MY LOVE, THOU ART A NOSEGAY SWEET. My love, thou art a nosegay sweet, My sweetest flower I'll prove thee, And pleased I pin thee to my breast, And dearly do I love thee. And when, my nosegay, thou shalt fade, As sweet a flower thou'lt prove thee; And as thou witherest on my breast For beauty past I'll love thee. And when, my nosegay, thou shalt die, And heaven's flower shalt prove thee, My hopes shall follow to the sky, And everlasting love thee. WHAT IS LIFE? And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run, A mist retreating from the morning sun, A busy, bustling, still repeated dream; Its length?--A minute's pause, a moment's thought; And happiness?--a bubble on the stream, That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought. What are vain hopes?--The puffing gale of morn, That of its charms divests the dewy lawn, And robs each flow'ret of its gem,--and dies; A cobweb hiding disappointment's thorn, Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise. And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound? That dark, mysterious name of horrid sound?-- A long and lingering sleep, the weary crave. And Peace? where can its happiness abound? No where at all, save heaven, and the grave. Then what is Life?--When stripp'd of its disguise, A thing to be desir'd it cannot be, Since everything that meets our foolish eyes Gives proof sufficient of its vanity. 'T is but a trial all must undergo, To teach unthankful mortals how to prize That happiness vain man's denied to know Until he's called to claim it in the skies. The following lines in the "Address to Plenty" have always been admired for their Doric strength and simplicity, and the vivid realism of the scene which they depict:-- Toiling in the naked fields, Where no bush a shelter yields, Needy Labour dithering stands, Beats and blows his numbing hands, And upon the crumping snows Stamps, in vain, to warm his toes. Leaves are fled, that once had power To resist a summer shower; And the wind so piercing blows, Winnowing small the drifting snows;