Farewell to the bushy clump close to the river <br />And the flags where the butter-bump hides in forever; <br />Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed in by waters; <br />Farewell to the miller's brook and his three bonny daughters; <br />Farewell to them all while in prison I lie-- <br />In the prison a thrall sees naught but the sky. <br /> <br />Shut out are the green fields and birds in the bushes; <br />In the prison yard nothing builds, blackbirds or thrushes. <br />Farewell to the old mill and dash of waters, <br />To the miller and, dearer still, to his three bonny daughters. <br /> <br />In the nook, the larger burdock grows near the green willow; <br />In the flood, round the moor-cock dashes under the billow; <br />To the old mill farewell, to the lock, pens, and waters, <br />To the miller himsel', and his three bonny daughters.<br /><br />John Clare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/farewell-3/
