'Tis evening; the black snail has got on his track,
And gone to its nest is the wren,
And the packman snail, too, with his home on his back,
Clings to the bowed bents like a wen.
The shepherd has made a rude mark with his foot
Where his shadow reached when he first came,
And it just touched the tree where his secret love cut
Two letters that stand for love's name.
The evening comes in with the wishes of love,
And the shepherd he looks on the flowers,
And thinks who would praise the soft song of the dove,
And meet joy in these dew-falling hours.
For Nature is love, and finds haunts for true love,
Where nothing can hear or intrude;
It hides from the eagle and joins with the dove,
In beautiful green solitude.
John Clare's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Evening by John Clare )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- A Certain Beauty, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Brel2, David McLansky
- Untouched, Pradip Chattopadhyay
- Being Enriched, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- If we meet again, Mellinda Aimee Jajalla
- Wondering How To Find Conclusions, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- My Luna ii, binod bastola
- Killings! Killings!, Udaya R. Tennakoon
- Long ago and far away., richard harris
- in memory of my first and last love, LUZAAN de Bruyn