John Clare's poems

The birds are gone to bed the cows are still

And sheep lie panting on each old molehill

And underneath the willow's grey-green bough

Like toil a-resting lies the fallow plough

The timid hares throw daylight fears away

On the lane road to dust and dance and play

Then dabble in the grain by nought deterred

To lick the dew-fall from the barley's beard

Then out they sturt again and round the hill

Like happy thoughts - dance - squat - and loiter still

Till milking maidens in the early morn

Gingle their yokes and sturt them in the corn

Through well-known beaten pates each nimbling hare

Sturts quick as fear - and seeks its hidden lair