Here sparrows build upon the trees,
And stock-dove hides her nest;
The leaves are winnowed by the breeze
Into a calmer rest:
The blackcap's song was very sweet,
That used the rose to kiss;
It made the paradise complete:
My early home was this.
The redbreast from the sweetbrier bush
Dropt down to pick the worm;
On the horse-chestnut sang the thrush,
O'er the house where I was born;
The moonlight, like a shower of pearls,
Fell o'er this "bower of blis,"
And on the bench sat boys and girls:
My early home was this.
The old house stooped just like a cave,
Thatched o'er with mosses greens;
Winter around the walls would rave,
But all was calm within;
The trees are here all green agen,
Here bees the flowers still kiss,
But flowers and trees seemed sweeter then:
My early home was this.
John Clare

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