Field Path

The beams in blossom with their spots of jet
Smelt sweet as gardens wheresoever met;
The level meadow grass was in the swath;
The hedge briar rose hung right across the path,
White over with its flowers--the grass that lay
Bleaching beneath the twittering heat to hay
Smelt so deliciously, the puzzled bee
Went wondering where the honey sweets could be;
And passer-bye along the level rows
Stoopt down and whipt a bit beneath his nose.

by John Clare

Comments (3)

Well written Herbert.Liked this one.Thank you.
I know, Linda and you know. And that is enough. What do they say about pearls? H
Yes, the barnyard can be an interesting metaphor - for so may things, Herbert.