John Clare's Prose And Poetry
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Woods, meadows, hedge-rows, corn-fields, all around
Much beauty intervenes, Filling with harmony the ear and eye
While o'er the mingling scenes Far spreads the laughing sky.
See, how the wind-enamoured aspen leaves
Turn up their silver lining to the sun!
And hark! the rustling noise, that oft deceives,
And makes the sheep-boy run: The sound so mimics fast-approaching showers,
He thinks the rain's begun, And hastes to sheltering bowers.
But now the evening curdles dank and grey,
Changing her watchet hue for sombre weed;
And moping owls, to close the lids of day, On drowsy wing proceed;
While chickering crickets, tremulous and long,
Light's farewell inly heed, And give it parting song.
The pranking bat its flighty circlet makes;
The glow-worm burnishes its lamp anew;
O'er meadows dew-besprent, the beetle wakes Inquiries ever new,
Teazing each passing ear with murmurs vain,
As wanting to pursue His homeward path again.
Hark! 'tis the melody of distant bells
That on the wind with pleasing hum rebounds
By fitful starts, then musically swells O'er the dim stilly grounds;
While on the meadow-bridge the pausing boy
Listens the mellow sounds, And hums in vacant joy.
Now homeward-bound, the hedger bundles round
His evening faggot, and with every stride
His leathern doublet leaves a rustling sound,
Till silly sheep beside His path start tremulous, and once again
Look back dissatisfied, And scour the dewy plain.
Summer Images
( 1793 - 1864 )
Graphic Designs Are � By Missy's Mom
� 1997 - 1998 By Roland . All Rights Reserved .
Font Used Is Rockwell Italic .
Last Update : December 30, 1998
