SONG: The bird cherrys white in the dews o' the morning

The bird cherrys white in the dews o' the morning

The wildings are blushing along the hedgeside
The gold blossomed furze the wild heaths are adorning
& the brook in the hollow runs light by my side
But where is the charmer the voice of the maiden
Whose presence once charmed me the whole summers day
The bushes wi' gold & wi' silver oerlaiden
Looks cold i' the morning when Phebe's away

The sun rises bright oer the oaks in the spinney
Bringing gold unto gold on the winbushes there
Blossoming bright as a new minted guinea
& moist wi' the mist of the morns dewy air
The flower is bowed down & I let the tired Bee be
All wet wi' night dew & unable to flye
Such a kindness in me would be pleasure to Phebe
A poor trampled Insect would cause her to sigh

The white thorn is coming wi' bunches of blossoms
The broad sheets of daiseys spread out on the lea
The bunches of cowslips spread out their gold bosoms
While the oak balls appear on the old spinney tree

Come forward my Phebe wi' dews of the morning
By the old crooked brook let thy early walk be
Where the brambles arched stalks—glossy leaves are adorning
& bits o' woo' hang on the bark o' the tree

Come forward my Phebe by times in the morning
Come forward my Phebe in blebs o' the dew
They bead the young cowslip like pearls i' the dawning
& we'll mark the young shower where the green linnet flew
I'll court thee & woo thee from morning to e'ening
Where the primrose looks bright in the ivy's dark green
& the oak oer the brook in its white bark is leaning
There let me & Phebe wi' morning be seen

The Oxford Authors: John Clare,

ed. Eric Robinson and David Powell (Oxford, 1984)