'Tis evening; the black snail has got on his track, <br />And gone to its nest is the wren, <br />And the packman snail, too, with his home on his back, <br />Clings to the bowed bents like a wen. <br /> <br />The shepherd has made a rude mark with his foot <br />Where his shadow reached when he first came, <br />And it just touched the tree where his secret love cut <br />Two letters that stand for love's name. <br /> <br />The evening comes in with the wishes of love, <br />And the shepherd he looks on the flowers, <br />And thinks who would praise the soft song of the dove, <br />And meet joy in these dew-falling hours. <br /> <br />For Nature is love, and finds haunts for true love, <br />Where nothing can hear or intrude; <br />It hides from the eagle and joins with the dove, <br />In beautiful green solitude.<br /><br />John Clare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-2/
