I went in the fields with the leisure I got, <br />The stranger might smile but I heeded him not, <br />The hovel was ready to screen from a shower, <br />And the book in my pocket was read in an hour. <br /> <br />The bird came for shelter, but soon flew away; <br />The horse came to look, and seemed happy to stay; <br />He stood up in quiet, and hung down his head, <br />And seemed to be hearing the poem I read. <br /> <br />The ploughman would turn from his plough in the day <br />And wonder what being had come in his way, <br />To lie on a molehill and read the day long <br />And laugh out aloud when he'd finished his song. <br /> <br />The pewit turned over and stooped oer my head <br />Where the raven croaked loud like the ploughman ill-bred, <br />But the lark high above charmed me all the day long, <br />So I sat down and joined in the chorus of song. <br /> <br />The foolhardy ploughman I well could endure, <br />His praise was worth nothing, his censure was poor, <br />Fame bade me go on and I toiled the day long <br />Till the fields where he lived should be known in my song.<br /><br />John Clare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-frightened-ploughman/
