Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come, <br />For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom, <br />And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest, <br />And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast; <br />She sits beneath the whitethorn a-plaiting of her hair, <br />And I will to my true lover with a fond request repair; <br />I will look upon her face, I will in her beauty rest, <br />And lay my aching weariness upon her lovely breast. <br /> <br />The clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May, <br />The merry bee is trampling the pinky threads all day, <br />And the chaffinch it is brooding on its grey mossy nest <br />In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover's breast; <br />I'll lean upon her breast and I'll whisper in her ear <br />That I cannot get a wink o'sleep for thinking of my dear; <br />I hunger at my meat and I daily fade away <br />Like the hedge rose that is broken in the heat of the day.<br /><br />John Clare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/summer-2/
