 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
299
MORNING SHOWERS
Now the meadow water smokes,
And the hedgerow's dripping oaks
Pitter-patter all around
And dimple the once dusty ground;
The spinners' threads about the weeds
Are hung with little drops in beads;
Clover silver-green becomes,
And purple-blue surrounds the plums,
And every place breathes fresh and fair
When morning pays her visit there.
And the hedgerow's dripping oaks
Pitter-patter all around
And dimple the once dusty ground;
The spinners' threads about the weeds
Are hung with little drops in beads;
Clover silver-green becomes,
And purple-blue surrounds the plums,
And every place breathes fresh and fair
When morning pays her visit there.
The waterfowl with suthering wing
Dive down the river, splash and spring
Up to the very clouds again
That sprinkle scuds of coming rain,
That fly and drizzle all the day
Till dripping grass is turned to grey;
The various clouds [now] move or lie
Like mighty travellers in the sky,
All mountainous and ridged and curled,
That may have travelled round the world.
Dive down the river, splash and spring
Up to the very clouds again
That sprinkle scuds of coming rain,
That fly and drizzle all the day
Till dripping grass is turned to grey;
The various clouds [now] move or lie
Like mighty travellers in the sky,
All mountainous and ridged and curled,
That may have travelled round the world.
When the rain at midday stops,
Spangles glitter in the drops,
And, as each thread a sunbeam was,
Cobwebs glitter in the grass.
The sheep all loaded with the rain
Try to shake it off again,
And ere dried by wind and sun
The load will scarcely let them run.
Spangles glitter in the drops,
And, as each thread a sunbeam was,
Cobwebs glitter in the grass.
The sheep all loaded with the rain
Try to shake it off again,
And ere dried by wind and sun
The load will scarcely let them run.
| The Poems of John Clare | |