The early poems of John Clare :: :: University of Virginia Library

While faint short wirlwinds puffing bye
Breaths thy latest symphony
& much I love thy checkerd gloom
& dear I love thy waning moon
Or breaths the blue mist & the [OMITTED]
Or [OMITTED]
Or [OMITTED]
Or [OMITTED] thy wintry bed
With hurkling stride & watchful tread
Let my [OMITTED] be watching found
Let me as wont begin my wait
Inofensive keeping state
Where halfway bowd & neath the ground
Like a buble bright & round
The sun streams up till bove the wood
It meets the blue sky red as blood
& by degrees increasing high
It sticks a Gold stud in the sky
& view thy ripness growing up
Just as the acron leaves its cup
Just as the nut bunch ripnd brown
Leaves its shell & tumbles down
& the leams on every squall
Leaves the tree in softnd fall
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED] blow
Nor doubts its dead nor wish to sigh
But as the autumn droops to dye
Now the Village calm & still
Droves its tenants up the hill
Gently lifts as tho it where
[OMITTED] shed proaching near
Tho far different be the cause
That the hinds attention draws
While oer wheat fields turning brown
Laughing flings its [OMITTED] down
Emigrating swallows now
Sweep no more the green hills brow

375

Nor in circuits round the spring
Skim & dip their sutty wing
& no more their chimny nigh
Twitter round to catch their flye
But with more majestic rise
Practising their exercise
& their young brood to pursue
Autums weary journy through
Meditating travels long
Wher the freshing year is young
Leaving us our cold sojourn
'Turning more till springs return
Wild woods ring in echos round
Wi many a lusty rural sound
Thro the day the wooping call
Of ramping nutters ceasless brawl
Weaving branches tearing down
Plucking nuts now ripe & brown
Boys as soon as loosd from school
Run to get their pockets full
& many a village clown [in extacys]
Rustling mong the faded trees
That bend beside her path is seen
Like the woodlands rural queen
Snatching hastes handfuls while she hies
To milking where her red cow lies
Venturing oer the woodland stile
Shepherds leave their sheep awhile
Dreading squalls & turning back
They snached a nut or 2 to crack
While the pindard quirking out
As the lawyer squints about

376

Siezes on the chances found
& drives the straying sheep to pound
The Hedger who wi many a tap
Drives the stake down in the gap
Leaves his gaps & leaves his toil
& claims a share of autumns spoil
In short as full as it can snive
The hamlets dead & woods alive
The once so still & silent shade
Is now a scene of uproar made
& from her bowers of ash & oak
Where scarce a song besides crows have spoke
Till now the rolling seasons through
Scard Solitude now bids adieu
& from the thicket dark & deep
The fluttering pheasant scared from sleep
While nearly trampld on her lair
Bobbing jerks the startld hare
& the squirrels agilty
Sputters up the timber tree
There in safty on the grain
Wipes his face & peeps again
& the rabbits viving fears
Listning perks his taper ears
Bobbing round wi tail so white
He hurries from the gazers sight
& all the peacful things that flye
From meddling mans Accusing eye