The Thrush's Nest

Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush,

That overhung a molehill large and round,

I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush

Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound

With joy; and often, an intruding guest,

I watched her secret toil from day to day-

How true she warped the moss, to form a nest,

And modelled it within with wood and clay;

And by-and-by, like heath-bells gilt with dew,

There lay her shining eggs, as bright as flowers,

Ink-spotted over shells of greeny blue;

'A brood of Nature's minstrels...'

Mama Wood Thrush with her babies

And there I witnessed in the sunny hours,

A brood of Nature's minstrels chirp and fly,

Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky.

"The Thrush's Nest"

John Clare

English poet

(1793-1864)