poem

In Hilly-Wood — Aug 21, 2026

John Clare

0 votes

◆

How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs,
Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me;
Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs,
But not an eye can find its way to see.
The sunbeams scarce molest me with a smile,
So thickly the leafy armies gather round;
And where they do, the breeze blows cool the while,
Their leafy shadows dancing on the ground.
Full many a flower, too, wishing to be seen,
Perks up its head the hiding grass between,--
In mid-wood silence, thus, how sweet to be;
Where all the noises, that on peace intrude,
Come from the chittering cricket, bird, and bee,
Whose songs have charms to sweeten solitude.

◆

Comments

Loading comments…

📖 About this poem

Clare wrote this from the inside of a hiding place, not looking at nature but tucked into it, back resting against an old ash stump while the working world goes faintly on elsewhere. It reads like a sonnet that got comfortable and stretched a little, its rhymes loose and unhurried, matching the drowsy mood. The best image is that hush of "leafy armies" gathered so thick the sun can only "molest" him with a smile, light rationed out in dancing shadows rather than glare. Flowers "perks up its head" through grass like shy company, and the closing catalogue of cricket, bird, and bee turns quiet into something made of small sounds rather than silence itself. What keeps it fresh is how unforced it feels: no lesson, no grand vista, just a person choosing smallness and shade over being seen, which still sounds like a good idea on a loud day.