John Clare's poems

Old January clad in crispy rime

Comes hirpling on and often makes a stand

The hasty snowstorm ne'er disturbs this time

He mends no pace but beats his dithering hand

And Febuery like a timid maid

Smiling and sorrowing follows in his train

Huddled in cloak, of mirey roads affraid,

She hastens on to greet her home again

Then March the prophetess by storms inspired

Gazes in rapture on the troubled sky

And then in headlong fury madly fired

She bids the hail-storm boil and hurry bye

Yet 'neath the blackest cloud a sunbeam flings

Its cheering promise of returning spring