 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
126
FIELD FLOWERS
Hark from amid the corn that happy brawl!'Tis village children running after flowers.
To this void bosom how the sounds recall
Memories again of childhood's merry hours;
When thro' the garden pales or o'er the wall
We reached at garden flowers with eager hands,
Or boldly sought the field flowers free for all,
Wading breast-high amid the green corn-lands
For crimson poppies and corn-bottles blue,
Startling the partridge covey unawares,
That o'er our head in wild disorder flew.
Here we, like them, were blest; life laid no snares
To rob our joys; he was a partner too.
Why did he turn a foe and fill our path with cares?
| The Poems of John Clare | |