Summer Evening

The sinking sun is taking leave,
And sweetly gilds the edge of Eve,
While huddling clouds of purple dye
Gloomy hang the western sky.
Crows crowd croaking over head,
Hastening to the woods to bed.
Cooing sits the lonely dove,
Calling home her absent love.
With "Kirchup! Kirchup!" mong the wheats
Partridge distant partridge greets;
Beckoning hints to those that roam,
That guide the squandered covey home.
Swallows check their winding flight,
And twittering on the chimney light.
Round the pond the martins flirt,
Their snowy breasts bedaubed with dirt,
While the mason, neath the slates,
Each mortar-bearing bird awaits:
By art untaught, each labouring spouse
Curious daubs his hanging house.



Roger R. said...

"While huddling clouds of purple dye
Gloomy hang the western sky."

Helpston in July 2004 might by nearly 200 years from when these lines were written, but on a stormy Friday the day before the JCS Festival, the sky looked exactly like this. Clare's 'castles' much in evidence.

Nomad said...

Yes, and the swifts and martins hawking for insects, the crows heading to roost and all the other delicious sights and sounds are repeated tonight, as well-- although, partridges being in short supply where I am, the strangled jalopy-horn of a pheasant stood proxy from a nearby field.

You can feel the slip of summer evening air on your skin.
A good good-night story, indeed.

A happy idea for a 'conversation' (much nicer than the word 'web-log', I think)! It is going to be lovely to dip, swallow-like, into this Clare stream.