 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
SPRING
The cow-boy hears the spring and sees the crows,And cocks his hat, and whistles as he goes;
The maidens hurry to the hedge and play
To catch the clothes the shower has blown away.
The horse leaps up, the cow's no longer dull,
The maids bring home the buckets brimming full,
The old cow tosses up the gate away
And seeks the pasture where the summer lay.
The ploughman often stops and wipes his brow,
And sits and eats his luncheon on the plough.
The traveller birds in all directions fly,
And winds no longer moan a desert sky;
The ploughman, blundering on robust and strong,
Makes faces at the wind and lobs along.
| The Poems of John Clare | |