 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
WINTER
'Tis winter weather; up and down
The schoolboy slurs again,
The deepest pond in all the town
Would bear a loaded wain.
The schoolboy slurs again,
The deepest pond in all the town
Would bear a loaded wain.
The little birds half-pined agen,
Though dogs may blink and growl,
Will come where Goody feeds the hen
Half-tame as are the fowl.
Though dogs may blink and growl,
Will come where Goody feeds the hen
Half-tame as are the fowl.
357
And signs of harder weather still
Are noticed every day,
The wild-geese droves in noises shrill
Go floating far away;
Are noticed every day,
The wild-geese droves in noises shrill
Go floating far away;
And cawdy-mawdies flit agen,
In colour like the snow,
They swop away from dreary fen
And heed not where they go.
In colour like the snow,
They swop away from dreary fen
And heed not where they go.
On, on they go, and seldom stop,
A warmer spot to find,
And up the meadow floods they swop
Like snowballs in the wind.
A warmer spot to find,
And up the meadow floods they swop
Like snowballs in the wind.
'Tis winter here and everywhere;
In vain the robins sing,
The eve comes in still more severe
And nothing tokens spring.
In vain the robins sing,
The eve comes in still more severe
And nothing tokens spring.
Cats curl their tails and watch no more
The stackyard's squeaking mouse,
But waiting for the open door
They hurry in the house.
The stackyard's squeaking mouse,
But waiting for the open door
They hurry in the house.
The ickles on the eaves and that
To sticks of silver run,
And break upon the ploughman's hat
When melted by the sun.
To sticks of silver run,
And break upon the ploughman's hat
When melted by the sun.
They shorten till the day is done
And lengthen every morn,
When drops like diamonds in the sun
Hang knobs on every thorn.
And lengthen every morn,
When drops like diamonds in the sun
Hang knobs on every thorn.
Yet comfort still the heart surrounds,
No matter how severe
The weather is, when home abounds
With comfort all the year.
No matter how severe
The weather is, when home abounds
With comfort all the year.
358
Where pleasant easy hearts can find,
And pleasant books together,
A shelter from the cold and wind,
A fig for dreary weather!
And pleasant books together,
A shelter from the cold and wind,
A fig for dreary weather!
| The Poems of John Clare | |