 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
A PLEASANT PLACE
Now summer cometh I with staff in handWill hie me to the sabbath of her joys—
To heathy spots & the unbroken land
Of woodland heritage unknown to noise
& toil—save many a playful band
Of dancing insects that well understand
The sweets of life & with attuned voice
Sing in sweet concert to the pleasant may
There by a little bush I'll listening rest
To hear the nightingale a lovers lay
Chaunt by his mate who builds her carless nest
Of oaken leaves on thorn stumps mossed & grey
Feeling with them I too am truly blest
By making sabbaths of each common day
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |