 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
HARES AT PLAY
The birds are gone to bed the cows are still& sheep lie panting on each old molehill
& underneath the willows grey-green bough
Like toil a resting—lies the fallow plough
The timid hares throw daylight fears away
On the lane road to dust & dance & play
Then dabble in the grain by nought deterred
To lick the dew fall from the barleys beard
Then out they sturt again & round the hill
Like happy thoughts—dance—squat—& loiter still
Till milking maidens in the early morn
Gingle their yokes & sturt them in the corn
Through well known beaten paths each nimbling hare
Sturts quick as fear—& seeks its hidden lair
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |