The Poetry Corner

Nature.

By John Clare

O simple Nature, how I do delight To pause upon thy trifles--foolish things, As some would call them.--On the summer night, Tracing the lane-path where the dog-rose hings With dew-drops seeth'd, while chick'ring cricket sings; My eye can't help but glance upon its leaves, Where love's warm beauty steals her sweetest blush, When, soft the while, the Even silent heaves Her pausing breath just trembling thro' the bush, And then again dies calm, and all is hush. O how I feel, just as I pluck the flower And stick it to my breast--words can't reveal; But there are souls that in this lovely hour Know all I mean, and feel whate'er I feel.