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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419527" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Shepherds Calendar - March</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">March month of 'many weathers' wildly comes<br>In hail and snow and rain and threatning hums<br>And floods: while often at his cottage door<br>The shepherd stands to hear the distant roar<br>Loosd from the rushing mills and river locks<br>Wi thundering sound and over powering shocks<br>And headlong hurry thro the meadow brigs<br>Brushing the leaning sallows fingering twigs<br>In feathery foam and eddy hissing chase<br>Rolling a storm oertaken travellers pace<br>From bank to bank along the meadow leas<br>Spreading and shining like to little seas<br>While in the pale sunlight a watery brood<br>Of swopping white birds flock about the flood<br>Yet winter seems half weary of its toil<br>And round the ploughman on the elting soil<br>Will thread a minutes sunshine wild and warm<br>Thro the raggd places of the swimming storm<br>And oft the shepherd in his path will spye<br>The little daisey in the wet grass lye<br>That to the peeping sun enlivens gay<br>Like Labour smiling on an holiday<br>And where the stunt bank fronts the southern sky<br>By lanes or brooks where sunbeams love to lye<br>A cowslip peep will open faintly coy<br>Soon seen and gatherd by a wandering boy<br>A tale of spring around the distant haze<br>Seems muttering pleasures wi the lengthening days<br>Morn wakens mottld oft wi may day stains<br>And shower drops hang the grassy sprouting plains<br>And on the naked thorns of brassy hue<br>Drip glistning like a summer dream of dew<br>While from the hill side freshing forest drops<br>As one might walk upon their thickening tops<br>And buds wi young hopes promise seemly swells<br>Where woodman that in wild seclusion dwells<br>Wi chopping toil the coming spring decieves<br>Of many dancing shadows flowers and leaves<br>And in his pathway down the mossy wood<br>Crushes wi hasty feet full many a bud<br>Of early primrose yet if timely spied<br>Shelterd some old half rotten stump beside<br>The sight will cheer his solitery hour<br>And urge his feet to stride and save the flower<br>Muffld in baffles leathern coat and gloves<br>The hedger toils oft scaring rustling doves<br>From out the hedgrows who in hunger browze<br>The chockolate berrys on the ivy boughs<br>And flocking field fares speckld like the thrush<br>Picking the red awe from the sweeing bush<br>That come and go on winters chilling wing<br>And seem to share no sympathy wi spring<br>The stooping ditcher in the water stands<br>Letting the furrowd lakes from off the lands<br>Or splashing cleans the pasture brooks of mud<br>Where many a wild weed freshens into bud<br>And sprouting from the bottom purply green<br>The water cresses neath the wave is seen<br>Which the old woman gladly drags to land<br>Wi reaching long rake in her tottering hand<br>The ploughman mawls along the doughy sloughs<br>And often stop their songs to clean their ploughs<br>From teazing twitch that in the spongy soil<br>Clings round the colter terryfying toil<br>The sower striding oer his dirty way<br>Sinks anckle deep in pudgy sloughs and clay<br>And oer his heavy hopper stoutly leans<br>Strewing wi swinging arms the pattering beans<br>Which soon as aprils milder weather gleams<br>Will shoot up green between the furroed seams<br>The driving boy glad when his steps can trace<br>The swelling edding as a resting place<br>Slings from his clotted shoes the dirt around<br>And feign woud rest him on the solid ground<br>And sings when he can meet the parting green<br>Of rushy balks that bend the lands between<br>While close behind em struts the nauntling crow<br>And daws whose heads seem powderd oer wi snow<br>To seek the worms-and rooks a noisey guest<br>That on the wind rockd elms prepares her nest<br>On the fresh furrow often drops to pull<br>The twitching roots and gathering sticks and wool<br>Neath trees whose dead twigs litter to the wind<br>And gaps where stray sheep left their coats behind<br>While ground larks on a sweeing clump of rushes<br>Or on the top twigs of the oddling bushes<br>Chirp their 'cree creeing' note that sounds of spring<br>And sky larks meet the sun wi flittering wing<br>Soon as the morning opes its brightning eye<br>Large clouds of sturnels blacken thro the sky<br>From oizer holts about the rushy fen<br>And reedshaw borders by the river Nen<br>And wild geese regiments now agen repair<br>To the wet bosom of broad marshes there<br>In marching coloms and attention all<br>Listning and following their ringleaders call<br>The shepherd boy that hastens now and then<br>From hail and snow beneath his sheltering den<br>Of flags or file leavd sedges tyd in sheaves<br>Or stubble shocks oft as his eye percieves<br>Sun threads struck out wi momentery smiles<br>Wi fancy thoughts his lonliness beguiles <br>Thinking the struggling winter hourly bye<br>As down the edges of the distant sky<br>The hailstorm sweeps-and while he stops to strip<br>The stooping hedgbriar of its lingering hip<br>He hears the wild geese gabble oer his head<br>And pleasd wi fancys in his musings bred<br>He marks the figurd forms in which they flye<br>And pausing follows wi a wandering eye<br>Likening their curious march in curves or rows<br>To every letter which his memory knows<br>While far above the solitary crane<br>Swings lonly to unfrozen dykes again<br>Cranking a jarring mellancholy cry<br>Thro the wild journey of the cheerless sky<br>Full oft at early seasons mild and fair<br>March bids farewell wi garlands in her hair<br>Of hazzel tassles woodbines hairy sprout<br>And sloe and wild plumb blossoms peeping out<br>In thickset knotts of flowers preparing gay<br>For aprils reign a mockery of may<br>That soon will glisten on the earnest eye<br>Like snow white cloaths hung in the sun to drye<br>The old dame often stills her burring wheel<br>When the bright sun will thro the window steal<br>And gleam upon her face and dancing fall<br>In diamond shadows on the picturd wall<br>While the white butterflye as in amaze<br>Will settle on the glossy glass to gaze<br>And oddling bee oft patting passing bye<br>As if they care to tell her spring was nigh<br>And smiling glad to see such things once more<br>Up she will get and potter to the door<br>And look upon the trees beneath the eves<br>Sweet briar and ladslove swelling into leaves<br>And damsin trees thick notting into bloom<br>And goosberry blossoms on the bushes come<br>And stooping down oft views her garden beds<br>To see the spring flowers pricking out their heads<br>And from her apron strings she'll often pull<br>Her sissars out an early bunch to cull<br>For flower pots on the window board to stand<br>Where the old hour glass spins its thread of sand<br>And maids will often mark wi laughing eye<br>In elder where they hang their cloaths to drye<br>The sharp eyd robin hop from grain to grain<br>Singing its little summer notes again<br>As a sweet pledge of Spring the little lambs<br>Bleat in the varied weather round their dams<br>Or hugh molehill or roman mound behind<br>Like spots of snow lye shelterd from the wind<br>While the old yoes bold wi paternal cares<br>Looses their fears and every danger dares<br>Who if the shepherds dog but turns his eye<br>And stops behind a moment passing bye<br>Will stamp draw back and then their threats repeat<br>Urging defiance wi their stamping feet<br>And stung wi cares hopes cannot recconsile<br>They stamp and follow till he leaps a stile<br>Or skulking from their threats betakes to flight<br>And wi the master lessens out of sight<br>Clowns mark the threatning rage of march pass bye<br>And clouds wear thin and ragged in the sky<br>While wi less sudden and more lasting smiles<br>The growing sun their hopes of spring beguiles<br>Who often at its end remark wi pride<br>Days lengthen in their visits a 'cocks stride'<br>Dames clean their candlesticks and set them bye<br>Glad of the makeshift light that eves supply<br>The boy returning home at night from toil<br>Down lane and close oer footbrig gate and style1<br>Oft trembles into fear and stands to hark<br>The waking fox renew his short gruff bark<br>While badgers eccho their dread evening shrieks<br>And to his thrilling thoughts in terror speaks<br>And shepherds that wi in their hulks remain<br>Night after night upon the chilly plain<br>To watch the dropping lambs that at all hours<br>Come in the quaking blast like early flowers<br>Demanding all the shepherds care who find<br>Warm hedge side spots and take them from the wind<br>And round their necks in wary caution tyes<br>Long shreds of rags in red or purple dyes<br>Thats meant in danger as a safty spell<br>Like the old yoe that wears a tinkling bell<br>The sneaking foxes from his thefts to fright<br>That often seizes the young lambs at night<br>These when they in their nightly watchings hear<br>The badgers shrieks can hardly stifle fear<br>They list the noise from woodlands dark recess<br>Like helpless shrieking woman in distress<br>And oft as such fears fancying mystery<br>Believes the dismal yelling sounds to be<br>For superstition hath its thousand tales<br>To people all his midnight woods and vales<br>And the dread spot from whence the dismal noise<br>Mars the night musings of their dark employs<br>Owns its sad tale to realize their fear<br>At which their hearts in boyhood achd to hear<br>A maid at night by treacherous love decoyd<br>Was in that shrieking wood years past destroyd<br>She went twas said to meet the waiting swain<br>And home and friends ne'er saw her face again<br>Mid brakes and thorns that crowded round the dell<br>And matting weeds that had no tongues to tell<br>He murderd her alone at dead midnight<br>While the pale moon threw round her sickly light<br>And loud shrieks left the thickets slumbers deep<br>That only scard the little birds from sleep<br>When the pale murderers terror frowning eye<br>Told its dread errand that the maid shoud dye<br>Mid thick black thorns her secret grave was made<br>And there ere night the murderd girl was laid<br>When no one saw the deed but god and he<br>And moonlight sparkling thro the sleeping tree<br>Around-the red breast might at morning steel<br>There for the worm to meet his morning meal<br>In fresh turnd moulds that first beheld the sun<br>Nor knew the deed that dismal night had done<br>Such is the tale that superstition gives<br>And in her midnight memory ever lives<br>That makes the boy run by wi wild affright<br>And shepherds startle on their rounds at night</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now love teazd maidens from their droning wheel<br>At the red hour of sunset sliving steals<br>From scolding dames to meet their swains agen<br>Tho water checks their visits oer the plain<br>They slive where no one sees some wall behind<br>Or orchard apple trees that stops the wind<br>To talk about springs pleasures hoveing nigh<br>And happy rambles when the roads get dry<br>The insect world now sunbeams higher climb<br>Oft dream of spring and wake before their time<br>Blue flyes from straw stacks crawling scarce alive<br>And bees peep out on slabs before the hive<br>Stroaking their little legs across their wings<br>And venturing short flight where the snow drop hings<br>Its silver bell-and winter aconite<br>Wi buttercup like flowers that shut at night<br>And green leaf frilling round their cups of gold<br>Like tender maiden muffld from the cold<br>They sip and find their honey dreams are vain<br>And feebly hasten to their hives again<br>And butterflys by eager hopes undone<br>Glad as a child come out to greet the sun<br>Lost neath the shadow of a sudden shower<br>Nor left to see tomorrows april flower .</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=419527" data-title="The Shepherds Calendar - March de John Clare" data-description="March month of 'many weathers' wildly comes
In hail and snow and rain and threatning hums
And floods: while often at his cottage door
The shepherd stands to hear the distant roar
Loosd from the rushing mills and river locks
Wi thundering sound and..."></div>
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