 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
THE BUMBARREL'S NEST
The oddling bush, close sheltered hedge new plashed,Of which spring's early liking makes a guest
First with a shade of green though winter-dashed—
There, full as soon, bumbarrels make a nest
Of mosses grey with cobwebs closely tied,
And warm and rich as feather-bed within,
With little hole on its contrary side
That pathway peepers may no knowledge win
Of what her little oval nest contains—
Ten eggs and often twelve, with dusts of red
Soft frittered; and full soon the little lanes
Screen the young crowd and hear the twitting song
Of the old birds who call them to be fed,
While down the hedge they hang and hide along.
| The Poems of John Clare | |