Bluebells

Bluebells how beautifull & bright they look 
Bowed oer green moss & pearled in morning dew 
Shedding a shower of pearls as soon as shook 
In every wood hedgegap theyre shineing through 
Smelling of spring & beautifully blue 
—Childhood & Spring how beautifully dwells 
Their memories in the woods we now walk through 
O balmy days of spring in white thorn dells 
How beautifull are woods & their bluebells

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Little trotty wagtail

Little trotty wagtail he went in the rain,
And twittering, tottering sideways he ne'er got straight again.
He stooped to get a worm, and looked up to get a fly,
And then he flew away ere his feathers they were dry.

Little trotty wagtail he waddled in the mud,
And left his little footmarks, trample where he would.
He waddled in the water-pudge, and waggle went his tail,
And chirrupt up his wings to dry upon the garden rail.

Little trotty wagtail, you nimble all about,
And in the dimpling water-pudge you waddle in and out;
Your home is nigh at hand, and in the warm pig-stye,
So, little Master Wagtail, I'll bid you a good bye.

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Woodlands

A fragment

& then he roams the woodlands 
As happy as a moth on summers nights 
Now pausing thro the brambles prickly twine 
Where midnight lingers in the leafy mine 
& now thro smooth barked hazels mellow green 
That leave a pleasant open spot between 
Thro flowers & grass & many crippled brake 
Then garden clumps as nature wills to make 
Where oft he stands & pauses & admires 
& feels that happiness that never tires 
Now marking little tiny creeping things 
Creep on the leaves & then the coloured wings 
Of startled moth & eager butter flye 
That puzzled in the leaves & by & bye 
Mounts in the oaks & then the open sky

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Singing at the plough

Here morning in the ploughmans songs is met
Ere yet one footstep shows in all the sky
& twilight in the east a doubt as yet
Shows not her sleeve of grey to know her bye
Woke early I arose & thought that first
In winter time of all the world was I
The old owls might have hallooed if they durst
But joy just then was up & whistled bye
A merry tune which I had known full long
But could not to my memory wake it back
Until the ploughman changed it to the song
O happiness how simple is thy track
Tinged like the willow shoots the easts young brow
Glows red & finds thee singing at the plough

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A footpath winding

Ive oft been glad at heart to see 
A footpath winding through the grass 
Oer narrow stiles neath spreading tree 
Not wide enough for two to pass 
But now no ownership I fear 
Nor path to keep nor stile to climb 
I feel myself a monarch here 
My very fancies grow sublime

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Thy spirit visits

An incomplete rhyming scheme perhaps, but what fun!

Personally I think Clare’s pencil simply ran away with him, 

and sometimes he never went back to ‘correct’.

Thy spirit visits me like dew 
That glistens on the flowers 
Falling in the morning blue 
     & in the evening hours 

The wild flowers have a feeling 
Oer my calm senses stealing 

& loves soft dreams revealing 
     Seem wispering from the bowers

The foxgloves freckled bells 
That blossom by the wood 
& in the forrest dells 
     In the midst of solitude 

There I hear my lover call 
Where the whitethorn forms a wall 
& the foxglove blossoms tall 
     In the tears of eve bedewed 

Spirit thou of every place 
Where loves memories are left 
Places green as years of grace 
     Where hope lives of love bereft 

My love lives in these green places 
Where woodbine the white thorn embraces 
Far from the crowd of worldly faces 
     Here loves spirit still is left

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Winding ways

Theres somthing rich & joyful to the mind 
To view through close & field those crooked shreds 
Of footpaths that most picturesqly wind 
From town to town or some tree hidden sheds 
Where lonely cottager lifes peace enjoys 
Far far from strife & all its troubled noise 
The pent up artizan by pleasure led 
Along their winding ways right glad employs 
His sabbath leisure in the freshening air 
The grass the trees the sunny sloping sky 
From his weeks prison gives delicious fare 
But still he passes almost vacant bye 
The many charms that poesy finds to please 
Along the little footpaths such as these 

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