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1793–1864

Field Path

John Clare

The beams in blossom with their spots of jet Smelt sweet as gardens wheresoever met; The level meadow grass was in the swath; The hedge briar rose hung right across the path,

White over with its flowers — the grass that lay Bleaching beneath the twittering heat to hay Smelt so deliciously, the puzzled bee Went wondering where the honey sweets could be;

And passer-bye along the level rows Stoopt down and whipt a bit beneath his nose.

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Field Path · John Clare · Poetry Cove