 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
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THE SUMMER GONE
The summer she is gone her book is shut
That did my idle leisure so engage
Her pictures were so many—some I put
On memorys scroll—Of some I turned the page
Adown for pleasures after heritage
But I have stayed too long—& she is gone
Decay her stormy strife begins to wage
Scenes flit & change & new scenes hurry on
Till winters hungry maw shall gorge them every one
That did my idle leisure so engage
Her pictures were so many—some I put
On memorys scroll—Of some I turned the page
Adown for pleasures after heritage
But I have stayed too long—& she is gone
Decay her stormy strife begins to wage
Scenes flit & change & new scenes hurry on
Till winters hungry maw shall gorge them every one
The cleanly maiden down the village streets
In pattens clicks oer causways never dry
While eves drop on her cap—& oft she meets
The laughing urchin with mischevious eye
Who tryes to plash her as she hurrys bye
The swains afield right early seek their ploughs
& to the maids right vulgar speech applies
Yet gentler shepherd pleads & she alows
His proffered aid to help her over sloughs
In pattens clicks oer causways never dry
While eves drop on her cap—& oft she meets
The laughing urchin with mischevious eye
Who tryes to plash her as she hurrys bye
The swains afield right early seek their ploughs
& to the maids right vulgar speech applies
Yet gentler shepherd pleads & she alows
His proffered aid to help her over sloughs
The hedger soaked with the dull weather chops
On at his toils which scarcely keep him warm
At every stroke he takes—large swarms of drops
Patter about him like an april storm
The sticking dame with cloak upon her arm
To guard against the storm—walks the wet leas
Of willow groves—or hedges round the farms
Picking up aught her splashy wandering sees
Een withered kecks—& sticks winds shake from off the trees
On at his toils which scarcely keep him warm
At every stroke he takes—large swarms of drops
Patter about him like an april storm
The sticking dame with cloak upon her arm
To guard against the storm—walks the wet leas
Of willow groves—or hedges round the farms
Picking up aught her splashy wandering sees
Een withered kecks—& sticks winds shake from off the trees
Boys often clamber up a sweeing tree
To see the scarlet hunter hurry bye
& fain would in their merry uproar be
But sullen labour hath its tethering tie
Crows swop around & some on bushes nigh
Watch for a chance when eer he turns away
To settle down their hunger to supply
From morn to eve bird scaring claims his stay
Save now & then an hour which leisure steals for play
To see the scarlet hunter hurry bye
& fain would in their merry uproar be
But sullen labour hath its tethering tie
Crows swop around & some on bushes nigh
Watch for a chance when eer he turns away
To settle down their hunger to supply
From morn to eve bird scaring claims his stay
Save now & then an hour which leisure steals for play
Gaunt greyhounds now the coursers sports impart
With long legs stretched on tiptoe for the chace
& short loose ear & eye upon the start
swift as the winds their motions they unlace
When bobs the hare up from her hiding place
Who in its furry coat of fallow stain
Squats on the lands or with a dodging pace
Trys its old coverts of wood grass to gain
& oft by cunning ways makes all their speed in vain
With long legs stretched on tiptoe for the chace
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swift as the winds their motions they unlace
When bobs the hare up from her hiding place
Who in its furry coat of fallow stain
Squats on the lands or with a dodging pace
Trys its old coverts of wood grass to gain
& oft by cunning ways makes all their speed in vain
The pigeon with its breast of many hues
That spangles to the sun—turns round & round
About his timid paramour & coos
Upon the cottage ridge—while oer them wews
The puddock & below the clocking hen
Calls loud her chickens out of dangers way
That skulk & scuttle neath her wings agen
Nor peeps again till dangers far away
& one bye one they peep & hardly dare to stray
That spangles to the sun—turns round & round
About his timid paramour & coos
Upon the cottage ridge—while oer them wews
The puddock & below the clocking hen
Calls loud her chickens out of dangers way
That skulk & scuttle neath her wings agen
Nor peeps again till dangers far away
& one bye one they peep & hardly dare to stray
So summer went & so the autumn goes
Hedge orchard wood to red & yellow turn
The lark becrowding field a desert grows
The brooks that sung do nothing else but mourn
For company—there long necked cranes sojourn
Unstartled by the groups that summer gave
When reapers shepherds all with thirst did burn
& thronged its stream—aye life need little crave
For such will winter be in the unnoticed grave
Hedge orchard wood to red & yellow turn
The lark becrowding field a desert grows
The brooks that sung do nothing else but mourn
For company—there long necked cranes sojourn
Unstartled by the groups that summer gave
When reapers shepherds all with thirst did burn
& thronged its stream—aye life need little crave
For such will winter be in the unnoticed grave
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |