 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
THE LARK'S NEST
From yon black clump of wheat that grows
More rank and higher than the rest,
A lark—I marked her as she rose—
At early morning left her nest.
Her eggs were four of dusky hue,
Blotched brown as is the very ground,
With tinges of a purply hue
The larger ends encircling round.
More rank and higher than the rest,
A lark—I marked her as she rose—
At early morning left her nest.
Her eggs were four of dusky hue,
Blotched brown as is the very ground,
With tinges of a purply hue
The larger ends encircling round.
Behind a clod how snug the nest
Is in a horse's footing fixed!
Of twitch and stubbles roughly dressed,
With roots and horsehair intermixed.
The wheat surrounds it like a bower,
And like to thatch each bowing blade
Throws off the frequent falling shower
—And here's an egg this morning laid!
Is in a horse's footing fixed!
Of twitch and stubbles roughly dressed,
With roots and horsehair intermixed.
The wheat surrounds it like a bower,
And like to thatch each bowing blade
Throws off the frequent falling shower
—And here's an egg this morning laid!
| The Poems of John Clare | |