 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
302
The burnet's tawny knopples
Like little honeycombs—
Bees seeking honey dinners
With many passing hums
Would come and set them bowing
And their sweets would so detain
They'd turn again when gone away
And bend them down again.
Like little honeycombs—
Bees seeking honey dinners
With many passing hums
Would come and set them bowing
And their sweets would so detain
They'd turn again when gone away
And bend them down again.
The weeds beside the hedge dance
Like so many drunken men,
Then rest till breezes whisper,
Then up and dance agen;
The meadow-sweet in darksome green
Shines in the merry light,
Till winds lift up their undersides
And then they change to white.
Like so many drunken men,
Then rest till breezes whisper,
Then up and dance agen;
The meadow-sweet in darksome green
Shines in the merry light,
Till winds lift up their undersides
And then they change to white.
The fieldling flower it thrives the best
The furthest off from every eye,
The bird is happier on her nest
Where but the sheep go grazing by;
Ah me, I think that I could rest
And think and sleep deliciously,
A time-worn forest's hermit-guest,
And fix a tent beneath a tree.
The furthest off from every eye,
The bird is happier on her nest
Where but the sheep go grazing by;
Ah me, I think that I could rest
And think and sleep deliciously,
A time-worn forest's hermit-guest,
And fix a tent beneath a tree.
| The Poems of John Clare | |