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The Shepherds Calendar - May

Come queen of months in

Wi all thy merry

The restless cuckoo absent

And twittering swallows chimney

And hedge row crickets notes that

From every bank that fronts the

And swathy bees about the

That stops wi every bloom they

And every minute every

Keep teazing weeds that wear a

And toil and childhoods humming

For there is music in the

The village childern mad for

In school times leisure ever

That crick and catch the bouncing

And run along the church yard

Capt wi rude figured slabs whose

In times bad memory hath no

Oft racing round the nookey

Or calling ecchos in the

And jilting oer the weather

Viewing wi jealous eyes the

Oft leaping grave stones leaning

Uncheckt wi mellancholy

The green grass swelld in many a

Where kin and friends and parents

Unthinking in their jovial

That time shall come when they shall

As lowly and as still as

While other boys above them

Heedless as they do now to

The unconcious dust that lies

The shepherd goes wi happy

Wi moms long shadow by his

Down the dryd lanes neath blooming

That once was over shoes in

While martins twitter neath his

Which he at early morning

The driving boy beside his

Will oer the may month beauty

And cock his hat and turn his

On flower and tree and deepning

And oft bursts loud in fits of

And whistles as he reels

Crack[ing] his whip in starts of joyA happy dirty driving

The youth who leaves his corner

Betimes for neighbouring village

While as a mark to urge him

The church spires all the way in

Wi cheerings from his parents

Starts neath the joyous smiles of

And sawns wi many an idle

Wi bookbag swinging in his

And gazes as he passes

On every thing that meets his

Young lambs seem tempting him to

Dancing and bleating in his

Wi trembling tails and pointed

They follow him and loose their

He smiles upon their sunny

And feign woud join their happy

The birds that sing on bush and

Seem chirping for his

And all in fancys idle

Seem keeping holiday but

He lolls upon each resting

To see the fields so sweetly

To see the wheat grow green and

And list the weeders toiling

Or short not[e] of the changing

Above him in the white thorn

That oer the leaning stile bends

Loaded wi mockery of

Mozzld wi many a lushing

Of crab tree blossoms delicate

He often bends wi many a

Oer the brig rail to view the

Go sturting by in sunny

And chucks in the eye dazzld

Crumbs from his pocket oft to

The swarming struttle come to

Them where they to the bottom

Sighing in fancys joy the

Hes cautiond not to stand so

By rosey milkmaid tripping

Where he admires wi fond

And longs to be there mute till

He often ventures thro the

At truant now and then to

Rambling about the field and

Seeking larks nests in the

And picking flowers and boughs of

To hurd awhile and throw

Lurking neath bushes from the

Of tell tale eyes till schools noon

Listing each hour for church clocks

To know the hour to wander

That parents may not think him

Nor dream of his rude doing

Dreading thro the night wi dreaming

To meet his masters wand

Each hedge is loaded thick wi

And where the hedger late hath

Tender shoots begin to

From the mossy stumps

While sheep and cow that teaze the grainwill nip them to the root

They lay their bill and mittens

And on to other labours

While wood men still on spring

And thins the shadow

Wi sharpend axes felling

The oak trees budding into

Where as they crash upon the groundA crowd of labourers gather

And mix among the shadows

To rip the crackling staining

From off the tree and lay when

The rolls in lares to meet the

Depriving yearly where they

The green wood pecker of its

That early in the spring

Far from the sight of troubling

And bord their round holes in each

In fancys sweet

Till startld wi the woodmans

It wakes from all its dreaming

The blue bells too that thickly

Where man was never feared to

And smell smocks that from view

Mong rustling leaves and bowing

And stooping lilys of the

That comes wi shades and dews to

White beady drops on slender

Wi broad hood leaves above their

Like white robd maids in summer

Neath umberellas shunning

These neath the barkmens crushing

Oft perish in their blooming

Thus stript of boughs and bark in

Their trunks shine in the mellow

Beneath the green surviving

That wave above them in the

And waking whispers slowly

As if they mournd their fallen

Each morning now the weeders

To cut the thistle from the

And ruin in the sunny

Full many wild weeds of their

Corn poppys that in crimson

Calld 'head achs' from their sickly

And carlock yellow as the

That oer the may fields thickly

And 'iron weed' content to

The meanest spot that spring can

Een roads where danger hourly

Is not wi out its purple

And leaves wi points like thistles

Thickset that have no strength to

That shrink to childhoods eager

Like hair-and with its eye of

And scarlet starry points of

Pimpernel dreading nights and

Oft calld 'the shepherds weather glass'That sleep till suns have dyd the

Then wakes and spreads its creeping

Till clouds or threatning shadows

Then close it shuts to sleep

Which weeders see and talk of

And boys that mark them shut so soonwill call them 'John go bed at

And fumitory too a

That superstition holds to

Whose red and purple mottled

Are cropt by maids in weeding

To boil in water milk and

For washes on an

To make their beauty fair and

And scour the tan from summers

And simple small forget me

Eyd wi a pinshead yellow spotI'th'2 middle of its tender

That gains from poets notice

These flowers the toil by crowds

And robs them of their lowly

That met the may wi hopes as

As those her suns in gardens

And oft the dame will feel

As childhoods memory comes to

To turn her hook away and

The blooms it lovd to gather

My wild field catalogue of

Grows in my ryhmes as thick as

Tedious and long as they may

To some, they never weary

The wood and mead and field of grainI coud hunt oer and oer

And talk to every blossom

Fond as a parent to a

And cull them in my childish

By swarms and swarms and never

When their lank shades oer morning

Shrink from their lengths to little

And like the clock hand pointing

Is turnd and tells the morning

They leave their toils for dinners

Beneath some hedges bramble

And season sweet their savory

Wi joke and tale and merry

Of ancient tunes from happy

While linnets join their fitful

Perchd oer their heads in frolic

Among the tufts of motling

The young girls whisper things of

And from the old dames hearing

Oft making 'love knotts' in the

Of blue green oat or wheaten

And trying simple charms and

That rural superstition

They pull the little blossom

From out the knapweeds button

And put the husk wi many a

In their white bosoms for

Who if they guess aright the

That loves sweet fancys trys to

Tis said that ere its lain an

Twill blossom wi a second

And from her white breasts

Bloom as they ne'er had lost a

When signs appear that token

As they are neath the bushes

The girls are glad wi hopes of

And harping of the holidayA hugh blue bird will often

Along the wheat when skys grow

Wi clouds-slow as the gales of

In motion wi dark shadowd

Beneath the coming storm it

And lonly chirps the wheat hid

That came to live wi spring

And start when summer browns the

They start the young girls joys

Wi 'wet my foot' its yearly

So fancy doth the sound

And proves it oft a sign of

About the moor 'mong sheep and

The boy or old man wanders

Hunting all day wi hopful

Each thick sown rushy thistly

For plover eggs while oer them

The fearful birds wi teazing

Trying to lead their steps

And coying him another

And be the weather chill or

Wi brown hats truckd beneath his

Holding each prize their search has

They plod bare headed to the

Now dames oft bustle from their

Wi childern scampering at their

To watch the bees that hang and

In clumps about each thronging

And flit and thicken in the

While the old dame enjoys the

And raps the while their warming pansA spell that superstition

To coax them in the garden

As if they lovd the tinkling

And oft one hears the dinning

Which dames believe each swarm

Around each village day by

Mingling in the warmth of

Sweet scented herbs her skill

To rub the bramble platted

Fennels thread leaves and crimpld

To scent the new house of the

The thresher dull as winter

And lost to all that spring

Still mid his barn dust forcd to

Swings his frail round wi weary

While oer his head shades thickly

And hides the blinking owl

And bats in cobweb corners

Sharing till night their murky

The sunshine trickles on the

Thro every crevice of the

And makes his barn where shadows

As irksome as a prisoners

And as he seeks his daily

As schoolboys from their tasks will stealile often stands in fond

To see the daisy in his

And wild weeds flowering on the

That will his childish sports

Of all the joys that came wi

The twirling top the marble

The gingling halfpence hussld

At pitch and toss the eager

To pick up heads, the smuggeld

Neath hovels upon sabbath

When parson he is safe from

And clerk sings amen in his

The sitting down when school was

Upon the threshold by his

Picking from mallows sport to

Each crumpld seed he calld a

And hunting from the stackyard

The stinking hen banes belted

By youths vain fancys sweetly

Christning them his loaves of

He sees while rocking down the

Wi weary hands and crimpling

Young childern at the self same

And hears the self same simple

Still floating on each happy

Touchd wi the simple scene so

Tears almost start and many a

Regrets the happiness gone

And in sweet natures

His heart is sad while all is

How lovly now are lanes and

For toils and lovers sunday

The daisey and the

For which the laughing childern stoopA hundred times throughout the

In their rude ramping summer

So thickly now the pasture

In gold and silver sheeted

As if the drops in april

Had woo'd the sun and swoond to

The brook resumes its summer

Purling neath grass and water

And mint and flag leaf swording

Their blooms to the unheeding

And taper bowbent hanging

And horse tail childerns bottle

And summer tracks about its

Is fresh again where cattle

And on its sunny bank the

Stretches his idle length

Soon as the sun forgets the

The moon looks down on the lovly

And the little star his friend and

Travelling together side by

And the seven stars and charleses

Hangs smiling oer green woods

The heaven rekindles all

Wi light the may bees round the

Swarm not so thick in mornings

As stars do in the evening

All all are nestling in their

The flowers and birds and pasture

The firetail, long a stranger,

To his last summer haunts and

To hollow tree and crevisd

And in the grass the rails odd

That featherd spirit stops the

To listen to his note

And school boy still in vain

The secrets of his hiding

In the black thorns crowded

Thro its varied turns and

The nightingale its ditty

Hid in a multitude of

The boy stops short to hear the

And 'sweet jug jug' he mocks

The yellow hammer builds its

By banks where sun beams earliest

That drys the dews from off the

Shading it from all that

Save the rude boy wi ferret

That hunts thro evry secret

He finds its pencild eggs

All streakd wi lines as if a

By natures freakish hand was

To scrawl them over like a

And from these many mozzling

The school boy names them 'writing larks'Bum barrels twit on bush and

Scarse bigger then a bumble

And in a white thorns leafy

It builds its curious

Wi hole beside as if a

Had built the little barrel

Toiling full many a lining

And bits of grey tree moss

Amid the noisey rooky

Beneath the firdales branches

The little golden crested

Hangs up his glowing nest

And sticks it to the furry

As martins theirs beneath the

The old hens leave the roost

And oer the garden pailing

To scrat the gardens fresh turnd

And if unwatchd his crops to

Oft cackling from the prison

To peck about the houseclose

Catching at butterflys and

Ere they have time to try their

The cattle feels the breath of

And kick and toss their heads in

The ass beneath his bags of

Oft jerks the string from leaders

And on the road will eager

To pick the sprouting thistle

Oft answering on his weary

Some distant neighbours sobbing

Dining the ears of driving

As if he felt a fit of

Wi in its pinfold circle

Of all its company

Starvd stock no longer noising

Lone in the nooks of foddering

Each skeleton of lingering

By winters tempests beaten

Nodds upon props or bolt

Stands swarthy in the summer

And oer the green grass seems to

Like stump of old time wasted

All that in winter lookd for

Spread from their batterd haunts

To pick the grass or lye at

Beneath the mild hedge shadows

Sweet month that gives a welcome

To toil and nature and to

Yet one day mid thy many

Is dead to all its sport and

Old may day where's thy glorys

All fled and left thee every

Thou comst to thy old haunts and

Unnoticd as a stranger

No flowers are pluckt to hail the

Nor cotter seeks a single

The maids no more on thy sweet

Awake their thresholds to

Wi dewey flowers-May locks new

And princifeathers cluttering

And blue bells from the woodland

And cowslip cucking balls to

Above the garlands swinging

Hang in the soft eves sober

These maid and child did yearly

By many a folded apron

But all is past the merry

Of maidens hurrying

To crown at eve the earliest

Is gone and dead and silent

The laugh raisd at the mocking

Tyd to the cows tail last that

The kerchief at arms length

Held up by pairs of swain and

While others bolted

Bawling loud wi panting breath'Duck under water' as they

Alls ended as they ne'er

While the new thing that took thy

Wears faded smiles upon its

And where enclosure has its

It spreads a mildew oer her

The herd no longer one by

Goes plodding on her morning

And garlands lost and sports nigh

Leaves her like thee a common

Yet summer smiles upon thee

Wi natures sweet unalterd

And at thy births unworshipd

Fills her green lap wi swarms of

To crown thee still as thou hast

Of spring and summer months the queen.

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John Clare

John Clare (13 July 1793 – 20 May 1864) was an English poet. The son of a farm labourer, he became known for his celebrations of the English cou…

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