Now summer is in flower and natures hum Is never silent round her sultry bloom Insects as small as dust are never done Wi` glittering dance and reeling in the sun And green wood fly and blossom haunting bee Are never weary of their melody Round field hedge now flowers in full glory twine Large bindweed bells wild hop and streakd woodbine That lift athirst their slender throated flowers Agape for dew falls and for honey showers These round each bush in sweet disorder run And spread their wild hues to the sultry sun Where its silk netting lace on twigs and leaves The mottld spider at eves leisure weaves That every morning meet the poets eye Like faireys dew wet dresses hung to dry The wheat swells into ear and leaves below The may month wild flowers and their gaudy show Bright carlock bluecap and corn poppy red Which in such clouds of colors wid [e] ly spread That at the sun rise might to fancys eye Seem to reflect the many colord sky And leverets seat and lark and partridge nest It leaves a schoolboys height in snugger rest And oer the weeders labour overgrows Who now in merry groups each morning goes To willow skirted meads wi fork and rake The scented hay cocks in long rows to make Where their old visitors in russet brown The haytime butterflyes dance up and down And gads that teaze like whasps the timid maid And drive the herdboys cows to pond and shade Who when his dogs assistance fails to stop Is forcd his half made oaten pipes to drop And start and hallo thro the dancing heat To keep their gadding tumult from the wheat Who in their rage will dangers overlook And leap like hunters oer the pasture brook Brushing thro blossomd beans in maddening haste And `stroying corn they scarce can stop to taste Labour pursues its toil in weary mood And feign woud rest wi shadows in the wood The mowing gangs bend oer the beeded grass Where oft the gipseys hungry journeying ass Will turn its wishes from the meadow paths Listning the rustle of the falling swaths The ploughman sweats along the fallow vales And down the suncrackt furrow slowly trails Oft seeking when athirst the brooks supply Where brushing eager the brinks bushes bye For coolest water he oft brakes the rest Of ring dove brooding oer its idle nest And there as loath to leave the swaily place He`ll stand to breath and whipe his burning face The shepherds idle hours are over now Nor longer leaves him neath the hedgrow bough On shadow pillowd banks and lolling stile Wilds looses now their summer friends awhile Shrill whistles barking dogs and chiding scold Drive bleating sheep each morn from fallow fold To wash pits where the willow shadows lean Dashing them in their fold staind coats to clean Then turnd on sunning sward to dry agen They drove them homeward to the clipping pen In hurdles pent where elm or sycamore Shut out the sun-or in some threshing floor There they wi scraps of songs and laugh and tale Lighten their anual toils while merry ale Goes round and gladdens old mens hearts to praise The thread bare customs of old farmers days Who while the sturting sheep wi trembling fears Lies neath the snipping of his harmless sheers Recalls full many a thing by bards unsung And pride forgot-that reignd when he was young How the hugh bowl was in the middle set At breakfast time as clippers yearly met Filld full of frumity where yearly swum The streaking sugar and the spotting plumb Which maids coud never to the table bring Without one rising from the merry ring To lend a hand who if twas taen amiss Woud sell his kindness for a stolen kiss The large stone pitcher in its homly trim And clouded pint horn wi its copper rim Oer which rude healths was drank in spirits high From the best broach the cellar woud supply While sung the ancient swains in homly ryhmes Songs that were pictures of the good old times When leathern bottles held the beer nut brown That wakd the sun wi songs and sung him down Thus will the old man ancient ways bewail Till toiling sheers gain ground upon the tale And brakes it off-when from the timid sheep The fleece is shorn and wi a fearfull leap He starts-while wi a pressing hand His sides are printed by the tarry brand Shaking his naked skin wi wondering joys And fresh ones are tugd in by sturdy boys Who when theyre thrown down neath the sheering swain Will wipe his brow and start his tale again Tho fashions haughtv frown hath thrown aside Half the old forms simplicity supplyd Yet their are some prides winter deigns to spare Left like green ivy when the trees are bare And now when sheering of the flocks are done Some ancient customs mixd wi harmless fun Crowns the swains merry toils-the timid maid Pleasd to be praisd and yet of praise affraid Seeks her best flowers not those of woods and fields But such as every farmers garden yield Fine cabbage roses painted like her face And shining pansys trimmd in golden lace And tall tuft larkheels featherd thick wi flowers And woodbines climbing oer the door in bowers And London tufts of many a mottld hue And pale pink pea and monkshood darkly blue And white and purple jiliflowers that stay Lingering in blossom summer half away And single blood walls of a lucious smell Old fashiond flowers which huswives love so well And columbines stone blue or deep night brown Their honey-comb-like blossoms hanging down Each cottage gardens fond adopted child Tho heaths still claim them where they yet grow wild Mong their old wild companions summer blooms Furze brake and mozzling ling and golden broom Snap dragons gaping like to sleeping clowns And `clipping pinks` (which maidens sunday gowns Full often wear catcht at by tozing chaps) Pink as the ribbons round their snowy caps `Bess in her bravery` too of glowing dyes As deep as sunsets crimson pillowd skyes And majoram notts sweet briar and ribbon grass And lavender the choice of every lass And sprigs of lads love all familiar names Which every garden thro the village claims These the maid gathers wi a coy delight And tyes them up in readiness for night Giving to every swain tween love and shame Her `clipping poseys` as their yearly claim And turning as he claims the custom kiss Wi stifld smiles half ankering after bliss She shrinks away and blushing calls it rude But turns to smile and hopes to be pursued While one to whom the seeming hint applied Follows to claim it and is not denyd No doubt a lover for within his coat His nosegay owns each flower of better sort And when the envious mutter oer their beer And nodd the secret to his neighbor near Raising the laugh to make the mutter known She blushes silent and will not disown And ale and songs and healths and merry ways Keeps up a shadow of old farmers days But the old beachen bowl that once supplyd Its feast of frumity is thrown aside And the old freedom that was living then When masters made them merry wi their men Whose coat was like his neighbors russet brown And whose rude speech was vulgar as his clown Who in the same horn drank the rest among And joind the chorus while a labourer sung All this is past-and soon may pass away The time torn remnant of the holiday As proud distinction makes a wider space Between the genteel and the vulgar race Then must they fade as pride oer custom showers Its blighting mildew on her feeble flowersSourceThe script ran 0.003 seconds.
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