 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
537
MAY (II)
Birds sing and build, and Nature scorns aloneOn May's young festival to keep a widow;
The children too have pleasures all their own,
A-plucking lady-smocks along the meadow.
The little brook sings loud among the pebbles,
So very loud that water-flowers, which lie
Where many a silver curdle boils and dribbles,
Dance too with joy as it goes singing by.
Among the pasture mole-hills maidens stoop
To pluck the luscious marjoram for their bosoms;
The greensward's smothered o'er with buttercups,
And whitethorns, they are breaking down with blossoms!
'Tis Nature's livery for the bonny May,
Who keeps her court, and all have holiday.
| The Poems of John Clare | |