By Clare — to be Place at the Back of His Portrate


Bard of the mossy cot
Known through all ages
Leaving no line to blot
All through thy pages
Bard of the fallow field
And the green meadow
Where the sweet birds build
Nature thy widow.


Bard of the wild flowers
Rain washed and wind shaken
Dear to thee was mild showers
And heaths o' green bracan
The song o' the wild bird
Than nothing seemed dearer
The low o' the mild herd
And sheep bleating nearer.


Bard o' the sheep pen
The stack yard and stable
The hovel in bracken glen
Where a stone makes a table
There the white daisey blooms
With a tear in his eye
There Jenny Wren comes
When winter is bye.


Comes there and builds anew
His pudding bag nest
Hidden from rain and dew
The milking cows guest
Bard o' the mossy shed
Live on for ages
Daiseys bloom by thy bed
And live in thy pages.
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