I love at eventide to walk alone |
Down narrow lanes oerhung with dewy thorn |
Where from the long grass underneath the
snail |
Jet black creeps out and sprouts his timid
horn |
I love to muse oer meadows newly mown |
Where withering grass perfumes the sultry
air |
Where bees search round with sad and weary
drone |
In vain for flowers that bloomed but newly
there |
While in the juicey corn the hidden quail |
Cries ‘wet my foot’ and hid as thoughts
unborn |
The fairy like and seldom-seen land rail |
Utters ‘craik craik’ like voices
underground |
Right glad to meet the evenings dewy veil |
And see the light fade into glooms around
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John Clare |
Classic Poems |
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[ I Am ] [ Summer Moods ] [ What is Life? ] |
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