SUMMER MOODS
| I love at eventide to walk alone |
| Down narrow lanes oerhung with dewy thorn |
| Where from the long grass underneath the snail |
| Jet black creeps out and sprouts his timid horn |
| I love to muse oer meadows newly mown |
| Where withering grass perfumes the sultry air |
| Where bees search round with sad and weary drone |
| In vain for flowers that bloomed but newly there |
| While in the juicey corn the hidden quail |
| Cries ‘wet my foot’ and hid as thoughts unborn |
| The fairy like and seldom-seen land rail |
| Utters ‘craik craik’ like voices underground |
| Right glad to meet the evenings dewy veil |
| And see the light fade into glooms around by John Clare |
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