 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
481
MIST IN THE MEADOWS
The evening oer the meadow seems to stoopMore distant lessens the diminished spire
Mist in the hollows reeks & curdles up
Like fallen clouds that spread—& things retire
Less seen & less—the shepherd passes near
& little distant most grotesquely shades
As walking without legs—lost to his knees
As through the rawky creeping smoke he wades
Now half way up the arches dissappear
& small the bits of sky that glimmer through
Then trees loose all but tops—I meet the fields
& now the indistinctness passes bye
The shepherd all his length is seen again
& further on the village meets the eye
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |