The Poems of John Clare Edited with an Introduction by J. W. Tibble |
 | 1. |
 | 2. |
THE GREEN WOODPECKER AND THE WRYNECK |
 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
THE GREEN WOODPECKER AND THE WRYNECK
Hark! heard ye not the gentle rap
Like one tip-tapping at a door?
Then look above that woodland gap
The old oak dotterel leaneth o'er,
Upon whose rough and powdered rind
The green woodpecker eager clings;
And now it screams aloud to find
Us near, and round the tree it springs.
Like one tip-tapping at a door?
Then look above that woodland gap
The old oak dotterel leaneth o'er,
235
The green woodpecker eager clings;
And now it screams aloud to find
Us near, and round the tree it springs.
In touchwood trees it taps for food,
And in those holes of tiny size
Which insects make in rotten wood
It thrusts its slender tongue and cries;
Its tongue, a finger's length or more,
Fast glues them if they do but move;
But hardest oaks its bill can bore—
E'en birds will labour hard for love.
And in those holes of tiny size
Which insects make in rotten wood
It thrusts its slender tongue and cries;
Its tongue, a finger's length or more,
Fast glues them if they do but move;
But hardest oaks its bill can bore—
E'en birds will labour hard for love.
It knocks and craunches in the wood
For half the April, soon and late,
And though as sounds were understood
It screams and cackles to its mate,
Who quickly mocks the tuneless noise;
And then, as cheered, it bores in glee,
Snug-hid from mischief-wandering boys,
Who wonder what the sound may be.
For half the April, soon and late,
And though as sounds were understood
It screams and cackles to its mate,
Who quickly mocks the tuneless noise;
And then, as cheered, it bores in glee,
Snug-hid from mischief-wandering boys,
Who wonder what the sound may be.
And when the hole is deep enough,
It seeks its moss and wool and hair
And all the scraps of downy stuff
That field and forest have to spare;
And here the wryneck often comes
And finds a snug nest ready made
And layeth siege—whose hissing hums
May make the larger birds afraid.
It seeks its moss and wool and hair
And all the scraps of downy stuff
That field and forest have to spare;
And here the wryneck often comes
And finds a snug nest ready made
And layeth siege—whose hissing hums
May make the larger birds afraid.
The green woodpecker's eggs are grey,
Scarce larger than a sparrow's are,
And spotted in the self-same way,
Save that the spots are rather spare.
The wryneck's are a snowy white,
At whose large ends a simple ring
Still whiter shines when in the light;
I've often found them in the spring.
Scarce larger than a sparrow's are,
And spotted in the self-same way,
Save that the spots are rather spare.
236
At whose large ends a simple ring
Still whiter shines when in the light;
I've often found them in the spring.
And one nest in an apple tree
That o'er an orchard path did lean,
Where I went every morn to see,
Had eggs as many as sixteen.
She'd raise her feathers on her crown
And hiss as if to frighten boys;
E'en crouching cats would jump adown
Nor dared to meet the dreaded noise.
That o'er an orchard path did lean,
Where I went every morn to see,
Had eggs as many as sixteen.
She'd raise her feathers on her crown
And hiss as if to frighten boys;
E'en crouching cats would jump adown
Nor dared to meet the dreaded noise.
I've seen it raise its copple crest,
For I have watched it day by day,
And though I've found it on its nest
It never tried to get away,
But waved its speckled head awry
And hissed as if a snake to feign,
And waited till its brood could fly
Yet never sought the tree again.
For I have watched it day by day,
And though I've found it on its nest
It never tried to get away,
But waved its speckled head awry
And hissed as if a snake to feign,
And waited till its brood could fly
Yet never sought the tree again.
| The Poems of John Clare | |