 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
OLD DYKES
I often wander by the ancient dykes,Flood-washed into unnumbered crooks and turns,
Where many an antique tree my fancy strikes
That as an ancient privilege sojourns
Upon its banks: some wasted to a shell
Where oft from sudden showers path-passers hide;
Some twisted various ways as like to drop,
And some half tumbled down—yet ere they fell
Grew steadfast—where the shepherd climbs at top
To shorten steps and jump on t'other side;
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Then crooking like a bow turn up and throw
A spreading bower of rich luxurious green
Over the angler's head who sits below.
| The Poems of John Clare | |