 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
SUMMER MOODS
I love at eventide to walk aloneDown narrow lanes oerhung with dewy thorn
Where from the long grass underneath—the snail
Jet black creeps out & sprouts his timid horn
I love to muse oer meadows newly mown
Where withering grass perfumes the sultry air
Where bees search round with sad & weary drone
In vain for flowers that bloomed but newly there
While in the juicey corn the hidden quail
Cries ‘wet my foot’ & hid as thoughts unborn
The fairylike & seldom-seen land rail
Utters ‘craik craik’ like voices underground
Right glad to meet the evenings dewy veil
& see the light fade into glooms around
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |