poem

In Hilly-Wood, Oct 19, 2026

John Clare

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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.

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📖 About this poem

Clare drops you right into a hiding place and lets you breathe there. The poem is a sonnet, though a loosely shaped one, and its music comes from that looseness — the lines amble and settle the way thoughts do when you're lying in grass with nothing to do. He builds the quiet carefully: ploughmen are "faintly heard," sunbeams only "scarce molest" him, as if even light has been asked to keep its voice down. The best image might be the flowers that, "wishing to be seen," perk their heads between the hiding grass — a small, funny touch of personality in a poem otherwise about disappearing. What lands today is the honesty of the wish itself. Nobody needs convincing that a leafy, sound-softened hideout sounds good; Clare just gives you permission to want it, and hands you the exact cricket-and-birdsong hush to want it in.