"I am not one who was born in the custody of wisdom. I am one who is fond of olden times and intense in quest of the sacred knowing of the ancients." Gustave Courbet

21 June 2023

Wonders.

Poorvliet, Sentry, 1979


SUMMER MORNING

I love to peep out on a summer's morn,
— Just as the scouting rabbit seeks her shed,
And the coy hare squats nestling in the corn,
— Frit at the bow'd ear tott'ring o'er her head;
And blund'ring pheasant, that from covert springs,
— His short sleep broke by early trampling feet,
Makes one to startle with his rustling wings,
— As through the boughs he seeks more safe retreat.
The little flower, begemm'd around with drops
— That shine at sunrise like to burnish'd gold,
'Tis sweet to view: the milk-maid often stops,
— And wonders much such spangles to behold;
The hedger, too, admires them deck the thorn,
And thinks he sees no beauties like the morn.

John Clare

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