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