The Poetry Corner

Spring's Nosegay

By John Clare

The prim daisy's golden eye On the fallow land doth lie, Though the Spring is just begun: Pewits watch it all the day, And the skylark's nest of hay Is there by its dried leaves in the sun. There the pilewort, all in gold, 'Neath the ridge of finest mould, Blooms to cheer the ploughman's eye: There the mouse his hole hath made, And 'neath the golden shade Hides secure when the hawk is prowling by. Here's the speedwell's sapphire blue: Was there anything more true To the vernal season still? Here it decks the bank alone, Where the milkmaid throws a stone At noon, to cross the rapid, flooded rill. Here the cowslip, chill with cold, On the rushy bed behold, It looks for sunshine all the day. Here the honey bee will come, For he has no sweets at home; Then quake his weary wing and fly away. And here are nameless flowers, Culled in cold and rawky hours For my Mary's happy home. They grew in murky blea, Rush fields and naked lea, But suns will shine and pleasing Spring will come.