John Clare's poems

The tame hedge-sparrow in its russet dress

Is half a robin for its gentle ways

And the bird-loving dame can do no less

Then throw it out a crumble on cold days

In early March it into gardens strays

And in the snug clipt box-tree green and round

It makes a nest of moss and hair and lays

When e'en the snow is lurking on the ground

Its eggs in number five of greenish blue

Bright beautiful and glossy shining shells

Much like the firetail's but of brighter hue

Yet in her garden-home much danger dwells

Where skulking cat with mischief in its breast

Catches their young before they leave the nest