John Clare's poems

Free from the cottage corner see how wild

The village boy along the pastures hies

With every smell and sound and sight beguiled

That round the prospect meets his wondering eyes

Now stooping eager for the cowslip peeps

As though he'd get them all - now tired of these

Across the flaggy brook he eager leaps

For some new flower his happy rapture sees

Now tearing mid the bushes on his knees

Or woodland banks for bluebell flowers he creepts

And now while looking up among the trees

He spies a nest and down he throws his flowers

And up he climbs with new-fed extacies

The happiest object in the summer hours.