 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
365
COW-BOY'S HUT
The cow-boy's hut of straw neglected lies,Where the old tattered sheepskin hangs and dries,
Two trays on end, half down, with stubble lined,
And snugly thacked atop to block the wind,
And all below with stubble thickly spread
That served for chair, for table, and for bed,
Where he, when cows were still, would lie at ease
And eat his barley crust and shell his peas;
And when the rain forbid his steps to roam
Would lie and sleep till time to ramble home;
The ballad from his pocket lost forlorn
Lies bleaching to the weather, wet and torn,
Till the rude bird-boy in the fields alone
Repairs the hulk and claims the goods his own.
| The Poems of John Clare | |