The Poems of John Clare | ||
537
MAY (II)
Birds sing and build, and Nature scorns aloneOn May's young festival to keep a widow;
The children too have pleasures all their own,
A-plucking lady-smocks along the meadow.
The little brook sings loud among the pebbles,
So very loud that water-flowers, which lie
Where many a silver curdle boils and dribbles,
Dance too with joy as it goes singing by.
Among the pasture mole-hills maidens stoop
To pluck the luscious marjoram for their bosoms;
The greensward's smothered o'er with buttercups,
And whitethorns, they are breaking down with blossoms!
'Tis Nature's livery for the bonny May,
Who keeps her court, and all have holiday.
The Poems of John Clare | ||