Spear Thistle by John Clare Lyrics
Where the broad sheepwalk bare and brown
[Yields] scant grass pining after showers
And winds go fanning up and down
The little strawy bents and nodding flowers
There the huge thistle, spurred with many thorns
The suncrackt upland's russet swells adorns
Not undevoid of beauty there they come,
Armed warriors, waiting neither suns nor showers
Guarding the little clover plots to bloom
While sheep nor oxen dare not crop their flowers
Unsheathing their own knobs of tawny flowers
When summer cometh in her hottest hours
The pewit, swopping up and down
And screaming round the passer bye
Or running oer the herbage brown
With copple crown uplifted high
Loves in its clumps to make a home
Where danger seldom cares to come
The yellowhammer, often prest
For spot to build and be unseen
Will in its shelter trust her nest
When fields and meadows glow with green
And larks, though paths go closely bye
Will in its shade securely lie
The partridge too, that scarce can trust
The open downs to be at rest
Will in its clumps lie down, and dust
And prune its horseshoe-circled breast
And oft in shining fields of green
Will lay and raise its brood unseen
The sheep when hunger presses sore
May nip the clover round its nest
But soon the thistle wounding sore
Relieves it from each brushing guest
That leaves a bit of wool behind
The yellowhammer loves to find
The horse will set his foot and bite
Close to the ground lark's guarded nest
And snort to meet the prickly sight
He fans the feathers of her breast
Yet thistles prick so deep that he
Turns back and leaves her dwelling free
Its prickly knobs the dews of morn
Doth bead with dressing rich to see
When threads doth hang from thorn to thorn
Like the small spinner's tapestry
And from the flowers a sultry smell
Comes that agrees with summer well
The bee will make its bloom a bed
The humble bee in tawny brown
And one in jacket fringed with red
Will rest upon its velvet down
When overtaken in the rain
And wait till sunshine comes again
And there are times when travel goes
Along the sheep tracks' beaten ways
Then pleasure many a praise bestows
Upon its blossoms' pointed rays
When other things are parched beside
And hot day leaves it in its pride
[Yields] scant grass pining after showers
And winds go fanning up and down
The little strawy bents and nodding flowers
There the huge thistle, spurred with many thorns
The suncrackt upland's russet swells adorns
Not undevoid of beauty there they come,
Armed warriors, waiting neither suns nor showers
Guarding the little clover plots to bloom
While sheep nor oxen dare not crop their flowers
Unsheathing their own knobs of tawny flowers
When summer cometh in her hottest hours
The pewit, swopping up and down
And screaming round the passer bye
Or running oer the herbage brown
With copple crown uplifted high
Loves in its clumps to make a home
Where danger seldom cares to come
The yellowhammer, often prest
For spot to build and be unseen
Will in its shelter trust her nest
When fields and meadows glow with green
And larks, though paths go closely bye
Will in its shade securely lie
The partridge too, that scarce can trust
The open downs to be at rest
Will in its clumps lie down, and dust
And prune its horseshoe-circled breast
And oft in shining fields of green
Will lay and raise its brood unseen
The sheep when hunger presses sore
May nip the clover round its nest
But soon the thistle wounding sore
Relieves it from each brushing guest
That leaves a bit of wool behind
The yellowhammer loves to find
The horse will set his foot and bite
Close to the ground lark's guarded nest
And snort to meet the prickly sight
He fans the feathers of her breast
Yet thistles prick so deep that he
Turns back and leaves her dwelling free
Its prickly knobs the dews of morn
Doth bead with dressing rich to see
When threads doth hang from thorn to thorn
Like the small spinner's tapestry
And from the flowers a sultry smell
Comes that agrees with summer well
The bee will make its bloom a bed
The humble bee in tawny brown
And one in jacket fringed with red
Will rest upon its velvet down
When overtaken in the rain
And wait till sunshine comes again
And there are times when travel goes
Along the sheep tracks' beaten ways
Then pleasure many a praise bestows
Upon its blossoms' pointed rays
When other things are parched beside
And hot day leaves it in its pride