 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
THE HOLLOW TREE
How oft a summer shower hath started meTo seek for shelter in an hollow tree
Old hugh ash dotterel wasted to a shell
Whose vigorous head still grew & flourished well
Where ten might sit upon the battered floor
& still look round discovering room for more
& he who chose a hermit life to share
Might have a door & make a cabin there
They seemed so like a house that our desires
Would call them so & make our gipsey fires
& eat field dinners of the juicey peas
Till we were wet & drabbled to the knees
But in our old tree house rain as it might
Not one drop fell although it rained till night
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |