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John Clare - The Yellowhammer
Work rating: Low

When shall I see the white-thorn leaves agen,
  And yellowhammers gathering the dry bents
By the dyke side, on stilly moor or fen,
  Feathered with love and nature`s good intents?
Rude is the tent this architect invents,
  Rural the place, with cart ruts by dyke side.
Dead grass, horse hair, and downy-headed bents
  Tied to dead thistles--she doth well provide,
Close to a hill of ants where cowslips bloom
And shed oer meadows far their sweet perfume.
  In early spring, when winds blow chilly cold,
The yellowhammer, trailing grass, will come
To fix a place and choose an early home,
  With yellow breast and head of solid gold.
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