 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
231
THE REDCAP
The redcap is a painted bird
And beautiful its feathers are;
In early spring its voice is heard
While searching thistles brown and bare;
It makes a nest of mosses grey
And lines it round with thistle-down;
Five small pale spotted eggs they lay
In places never far from town.
And beautiful its feathers are;
In early spring its voice is heard
While searching thistles brown and bare;
It makes a nest of mosses grey
And lines it round with thistle-down;
Five small pale spotted eggs they lay
In places never far from town.
I've seen them build on eldern bough
And tip-top of our russeting,
But never did I see till now
A bird's nest in a garland hing;
In this old princifeather tree,
As hiding from the sudden showers,
The redcap's nest delighteth me,
Hid in a bunch of lilac flowers.
And tip-top of our russeting,
But never did I see till now
A bird's nest in a garland hing;
In this old princifeather tree,
As hiding from the sudden showers,
The redcap's nest delighteth me,
Hid in a bunch of lilac flowers.
| The Poems of John Clare | |