From... A Raphsody

Sweet solitude what joy to be alone

In wild wood shady dell to stay for hours
Twould soften hearts if they were hard as stone
To see glad Butterflies & smiling flowers
Tis pleasant in these quiet lonely places
Where not the voice of Man our pleasure mars
To see the little bees with coal black faces
Gath'ring sweets from little flowers like stars

The wind seems calling though not understood
A voice is speaking Hark! it louder calls
It echoes in the far outstretching wood
First twas a hum but now it loudly squalls
And then the pattering rain begins to fall
And tis hush'd—the fern leaves scarcely shake
The totter grass it scarcely stirs at all
And then the rolling thunder gets awake

(lines 1 - 16)

The Poems of John Clare

ed. J. W. Tibble (2 volumes, Dent, 1935)