Spear Thistle
60 lines✦
here the broad sheepwalk bare and brown [Yields] scant grass pining after showers,And winds go fanning up and down The little strawy bents and nodding flowers,There the huge thistle, spurred with many thorns,The suncrackt upland's russet swells adorns. Not undevoid of beauty there they come, Armed warriors, waiting neither suns nor showers,Guarding the little clover plots to bloom While sheep nor oxen dare not crop their flowersUnsheathing their own knobs of tawny flowersWhen summer cometh in her hottest hours. The pewit, swopping up and down And screaming round the passer bye,Or running oer the herbage brown With copple crown uplifted high,Loves in its clumps to make a homeWhere danger seldom cares to come. The yellowhammer, often prest For spot to build and be unseen,Will in its shelter trust her nest When fields and meadows glow with green;And larks, though paths go closely bye,Will in its shade securely lie. The partridge too, that scarce can trust The open downs to be at rest,Will in its clumps lie down, and dust And prune its horseshoe-circled breast,And oft in shining fields of greenWill lay and raise its brood unseen. The sheep when hunger presses sore May nip the clover round its nest;But soon the thistle wounding sore Relieves it from each brushing guest,That leaves a bit of wool behind,The yellowhammer loves to find. The horse will set his foot and bite Close to the ground lark's guarded nestAnd snort to meet the prickly sight; He fans the feathers of her breast--Yet thistles prick so deep that heTurns back and leaves her dwelling free. Its prickly knobs the dews of morn Doth bead with dressing rich to see,When threads doth hang from thorn to thorn Like the small spinner's tapestry;And from the flowers a sultry smellComes that agrees with summer well. The bee will make its bloom a bed, The humble bee in tawny brown;And one in jacket fringed with red Will rest upon its velvet downWhen overtaken in the rain,And wait till sunshine comes again. And there are times when travel goes Along the sheep tracks' beaten ways,Then pleasure many a praise bestows Upon its blossoms' pointed rays,When other things are parched besideAnd hot day leaves it in its pride.
✦