 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
A AUTUMN MORNING
The autumn morning waked by many a gunThrows oer the fields her many coloured light
Wood wildly touched close tanned & stubbles dun
A motley paradise for earths delight
Clouds ripple as the darkness breaks to light
& clover fields are hid with silver mist
One shower of cobwebs oer the surface spread
& threads of silk in strange disorder twist
Round every leaf & blossoms bottly head
Hares in the drowning herbage scarcely steal
But on the battered pathway squats a bed
& by the cart rut nips her morning meal
Look where we may the scene is strange & new
& every object wears a changing hue
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |