 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
THE SHEPHERDS TREE
Hugh Elm thy rifted trunk all notched & scarredLike to a warriors destiny I love
To stretch me often on such shadowd sward
& hear the laugh of summer leaves above
Or on thy buttressed roots to sit & lean
In carless attitude—& there reflect
On times & deeds & darings that have been
Old cast aways now swallowed in neglect
While thou art towering in thy strength of heart
Stirring the soul to vain imaginings
In which lifes sordid being hath no part
The wind of that eternal ditty sings
Humming of future things that burns the mind
To leave some fragment of itself behind
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |