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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419482" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Spear Thistle</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where the broad sheepwalk bare and brown<br>[Yields] scant grass pining after showers,<br>And winds go fanning up and down<br>The little strawy bents and nodding flowers,<br>There the huge thistle, spurred with many thorns,<br>The suncrackt upland's russet swells adorns.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not undevoid of beauty there they come,<br>Armed warriors, waiting neither suns nor showers,<br>Guarding the little clover plots to bloom<br>While sheep nor oxen dare not crop their flowers<br>Unsheathing their own knobs of tawny flowers<br>When summer cometh in her hottest hours.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pewit, swopping up and down<br>And screaming round the passer bye,<br>Or running oer the herbage brown<br>With copple crown uplifted high,<br>Loves in its clumps to make a home<br>Where danger seldom cares to come.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The yellowhammer, often prest<br>For spot to build and be unseen,<br>Will in its shelter trust her nest<br>When fields and meadows glow with green;<br>And larks, though paths go closely bye,<br>Will in its shade securely lie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The partridge too, that scarce can trust<br>The open downs to be at rest,<br>Will in its clumps lie down, and dust<br>And prune its horseshoe-circled breast,<br>And oft in shining fields of green<br>Will lay and raise its brood unseen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sheep when hunger presses sore<br>May nip the clover round its nest;<br>But soon the thistle wounding sore<br>Relieves it from each brushing guest,<br>That leaves a bit of wool behind,<br>The yellowhammer loves to find.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The horse will set his foot and bite<br>Close to the ground lark's guarded nest<br>And snort to meet the prickly sight;<br>He fans the feathers of her breast--<br>Yet thistles prick so deep that he<br>Turns back and leaves her dwelling free.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Its prickly knobs the dews of morn<br>Doth bead with dressing rich to see,<br>When threads doth hang from thorn to thorn<br>Like the small spinner's tapestry;<br>And from the flowers a sultry smell<br>Comes that agrees with summer well.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bee will make its bloom a bed,<br>The humble bee in tawny brown;<br>And one in jacket fringed with red<br>Will rest upon its velvet down<br>When overtaken in the rain,<br>And wait till sunshine comes again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And there are times when travel goes<br>Along the sheep tracks' beaten ways,<br>Then pleasure many a praise bestows<br>Upon its blossoms' pointed rays,<br>When other things are parched beside<br>And hot day leaves it in its pride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Clare">John Clare</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419482" data-title="Spear Thistle de John Clare" data-description="Where the broad sheepwalk bare and brown
[Yields] scant grass pining after showers,
And winds go fanning up and down
The little strawy bents and nodding flowers,
There the huge thistle, spurred with many thorns,
The suncrackt upland's russet swell..."></div>
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