 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
THE MOOR-HEN'S NEST
I in my summer rambles love to seeA flood-washed bank support an aged tree,
Whose roots are bare; yet some with foothold good
Crankle and spread and strike beneath the flood;
Yet still it leans as safer hold to win
On t'other side, and seems as tumbling in.
Yet every summer finds it green and gay
And winter leaves it safe as did the May;
Nor does the moor-hen find its safety vain,
For on its roots their last year's homes remain;
And once again a couple from the brood
Seek their old birthplace, and in safety's mood
Build up their flags and lay; though danger comes,
It dares and tries and cannot reach their homes;
And still they hatch their eggs and sweetly dream
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And soon their sooty brood from fear elope
Where bulrush forests give them sweeter hope;
Their hanging nest that aids their wishes well
Each leaves for water as it leaves the shell;
They dive and dare and every gambol try
Till they themselves to other scenes can fly.
| The Poems of John Clare | |