Spring.
By John Clare
What charms does Nature at the spring put on, When hedges unperceived get stain'd in green; When even moss, that gathers on the stone, Crown'd with its little knobs of flowers is seen; And every road and lane, through field and glen, Triumphant boasts a garden of its own. In spite of nipping sheep, and hungry cow, The little daisy finds a place to blow: And where old Winter leaves her splashy slough, The lady-smocks will not disdain to grow; And dandelions like to suns will bloom, Aside some bank or hillock creeping low;-- Though each too often meets a hasty doom From trampling clowns, who heed not where they go.
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"What charms does Nature at the spring put on,..."
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