 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
THE THRUSHES NEST
Within a thick & spreading awthorn bushThat overhung a molehill large & round
I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush
Sing hymns to sunrise while I drank the sound
With joy & often an intruding guest
I watched her secret toils from day to day
How true she warped the moss to form her nest
& modelled it within with wood & clay
& bye & bye like heathbells gilt with dew
There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers
Ink spotted over shells of greeny blue
& there I witnessed in the sunny hours
A brood of natures minstrels chirp & flye
Glad as that sunshine & the laughing sky
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |