 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
124
ASHTON LAWN (II)
In Ashton Lawn, condemned to slow decay,Close to the south-east nook, a ruined hill
Lies choked in thorns and briers: yet to this day
Reality may trace the castle still.
A fragment of the moat still forms a pond,
Beset with hoof-tracked paths of horse and cow,
That often go to drink; and all beyond
Greensward with little mole-hills on its brow,
And fairy-rings in its old mystery dark,
Still wears its ancient name, and shepherds call
The closen all around it still ‘Old Park,’
Still traced by buried fragments of a wall.
The castle's self will soon be nothing's heir,
Peckt up to mend old roads, old garden walls repair.
| The Poems of John Clare | |