 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
THE SHEPHERDS FIRE
On the rude heath yclad in furze & ling& oddling thorn that thick & prickly grows
Shielding the shepherd when the rude wind blows
& boys that sit right merry in a ring
Round fires upon a molehill toasting sloes
& crabs that froth & frizzle on the coals
Loud is the gabble & the laughter loud
The rabbits scarce dare peep from out their holes
Unwont to mix with such a noisey crowd
Some run to eke the fire—while many a cloud
Of smoke curls up some on their haunches squat
With mouth for bellows puffing till it flares
Or if that fail one fans his napless hat
& when the feast is done they squabble for their shares
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |