The Fear of Flowers

The nodding oxeye bends before the wind,
The woodbine quakes lest boys their flowers should find,
And prickly dogrose spite of its array
Can't dare the blossom-seeking hand away,
While thistles wear their heavy knobs of bloom
Proud as a warhorse wears its haughty plume,
And by the roadside danger's self defy;
On commons where pined sheep and oxen lie
In ruddy pomp and ever thronging mood
It stands and spreads like danger in a wood,
And in the village street where meanest weeds
Can't stand untouched to fill their husks with seeds,
The haughty thistle oer all danger towers,
In every place the very wasp of flowers.

1 comment:

Pavlov's Cat said...

I've just mentioned Clare on my blog Pavlov's Cat, in the context of Iain Sinclair's new book, and was idly Googling to find a good link to introduce people to his poems. Liked the sound of yours so checked it out ... only to find a fellow Blogspot blogger! Fantastic site -- I've added a link to it in my post about Sinclair. Best wishes from Pavlov's Cat -- a Victorian scholar in my previous career.