A Lair At Noon.
By John Clare
The hawthorn gently stopt the sun, beneath, The ash above its quiv'ring shadows spread, And downy bents, that to the air did wreathe, Bow'd 'neath my pressure in an easy bed; The water whirled round each stunted nook, And sweet the splashings on the ear did swim Of fly-bit cattle gulshing in the brook, Nibbling the grasses on the fountain's brim: The little minnows, driv'n from their retreat, Still sought the shelving bank to shun the heat. I fain had slept, but flies would buzz around; I fain had looked calmly on the scene, But the sweet snug retreat my search had found Waken'd the Muse to sing the woody screen.
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"The hawthorn gently stopt the sun, beneath,..."
Exploring the themes of classic, John Clare delivers a powerful performance in "A Lair At Noon."... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...