Wild-winding.

TO MY OATEN REED  

Thou warble wild of rough rude melody!  

How oft I've woo'd thee, often thrown thee by; 

In many a doubtful rapture touching thee,  

Waking thy rural notes in many a sigh:  

Fearing the wise, the wealthy, proud and high, 

Would scorn as vain thy lowly extasy;  

Deeming presumptuous thy uncultur'd themes. 

Thus vainly courting Taste's unblemish'd eye,  

To list a simple Labourer's artless dreams,  

Haply I wander into wide extremes. 

But O thou sweet wild-winding rhapsody,  

Thou jingling charm that dost my heart control; 

I take thee up to smother many a sigh,
And lull the throbbings of a woe- worn soul.

John Clare