John Clare's poems

Spring cometh in with all her hues and smells

In freshness breathing over hills and dells

O'er woods where May her gorgeous drapery flings

And meads washed fragrant with their laughing springs

Fresh as new-opened flowers untouched and free

From the bold rifling of the amorous bee

The happy time of singing birds is come

And love's lone pilgrimage now finds a home

Among the mossy oaks now coos the dove

And the hoarse crow finds softer notes for love

The foxes play around their dens and bark

In joy's excess mid woodland shadows dark

And flowers join lips below and leaves above