The Yellowhammer Poem by John Clare

John Clare

Northamptonshire / England

The Yellowhammer

Rating: 2.7


When shall I see the white-thorn leaves agen,
And yellowhammers gathering the dry bents
By the dyke side, on stilly moor or fen,
Feathered with love and nature's good intents?
Rude is the tent this architect invents,
Rural the place, with cart ruts by dyke side.
Dead grass, horse hair, and downy-headed bents
Tied to dead thistles--she doth well provide,
Close to a hill of ants where cowslips bloom
And shed oer meadows far their sweet perfume.
In early spring, when winds blow chilly cold,
The yellowhammer, trailing grass, will come
To fix a place and choose an early home,
With yellow breast and head of solid gold.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Margaret O Driscoll 03 February 2016

Beautiful lines, so descriptive

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John Clare

Northamptonshire / England
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