 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
THE SPIDER-CATCHER
There is a stranger comes with May
To haunt the homestead's orchard tree,
Sings ‘eejip, eejip’ all the day,
And many cheated folks there be,
Whose fancies lead their ears astray,
Think Bible Egypt is its home,
A marvel of the mighty way
That birds without a guide will come.
To haunt the homestead's orchard tree,
Sings ‘eejip, eejip’ all the day,
And many cheated folks there be,
Whose fancies lead their ears astray,
Think Bible Egypt is its home,
A marvel of the mighty way
That birds without a guide will come.
It sings its strange and foreign call
All day in motion and at rest,
And in the orchard's hollow wall
It makes a large and curious nest
Of straws that from the yard it gains,
Of cobwebs fine as very down,
And lays six eggs of tawny stains,
Besprent with dots of darker brown.
All day in motion and at rest,
And in the orchard's hollow wall
It makes a large and curious nest
Of straws that from the yard it gains,
Of cobwebs fine as very down,
And lays six eggs of tawny stains,
Besprent with dots of darker brown.
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Its back is of a slaty blue,
Its paler bosom ashen grey,
Its wings are of a darker hue,
And now and ever all the day
The orchard trees are its retreats;
And there this ever busy guest
A something every moment meets
To catch and carry to its nest.
Its paler bosom ashen grey,
Its wings are of a darker hue,
And now and ever all the day
The orchard trees are its retreats;
And there this ever busy guest
A something every moment meets
To catch and carry to its nest.
'Neath cot and hovel eaves it drops,
And flies and insects often gets,
And round the barn-hole fluttering stops
Where spiders spread their flimsy nets;
And boys from what they've seen and heard
Them oft as spider-catchers call;
But yet the busy ‘eejip bird’
Remains a guess and doubt with all.
And flies and insects often gets,
And round the barn-hole fluttering stops
Where spiders spread their flimsy nets;
And boys from what they've seen and heard
Them oft as spider-catchers call;
But yet the busy ‘eejip bird’
Remains a guess and doubt with all.
| The Poems of John Clare | |