TO JOHN CLARE
by: John Clare (1793-1864)
- ELL, honest
John, how fare you now at home?
- The spring is come, and birds are building nests;
- The old cock-robin to the sty is come,
- With olive feathers and its ruddy breast;
- And the old cock, with wattles and red comb,
- Struts with the hens, and seems to like some best,
- Then crows, and looks about for little crumbs,
- Swept out by little folks an hour ago;
- The pigs sleep in the sty; the bookman comes--
- The little boy lets home-close nesting go,
- And pockets tops and taws, where daisies blow,
- To look at the new number just laid down,
- With lots of pictures, and good stories too,
- And Jack the Giant-killer's high renown.
MORE
POEMS BY JOHN CLARE |
|