Summer Winds

By John Clare

The wind waves oer the meadows green And shakes my own wild flowers And shifts about the moving scene Like the life of summer hours; The little bents with reedy head, The scarce seen shapes of flowers, All kink about like skeins of thread In these wind-shaken hours. All stir and strife and life and bustle In everything around one sees; The rushes whistle, sedges rustle, The grass is buzzing round like bees; The butterflies are tossed about Like skiffs upon a stormy sea; The bees are lost amid the rout And drop in [their] perplexity. Wilt thou be mine, thou bonny lass? Thy drapery floats so gracefully; We'll walk along the meadow grass, We'll stand beneath the willow tree. We'll mark the little reeling bee Along the grassy ocean rove, Tossed like a little boat at sea, And interchange our vows of love.