Welcome back to The Daily Poem. I'm David Kern, and today's Friday, June 19th, 2020.

Today's poem is by an English poet, John Clare, who lived from 1793 to 1864.

He was the son of a farmer, and he became known, as I've said before on the hero of the podcast, for his poems about that lifestyle.

He both celebrated it and was bemoaning its disappearance as he was living through the Industrial

Revolution in England.

The poem that I'm going to read today is called Summer Moods.

It's a good poem for this time of year.

It goes like this.

I love

at even tide to walk alone,

down narrow lanes or hung with dewy thorn,

where it from the long grass underneath the snail jet black

creeps out and sprouts his timid horn.

I love to muse, or meadows newly moan,

where withering grass perfumes the sultry air,

where bees search round with sad and weary drone,

in vain for flowers it bloomed, but newly there.

While in the juicy corn the hidden quailomed, but newly there.

While in the juicy corn the hidden quail cries,

Wet my foot, and hid as thoughts unborn,

The fairy-like and seldom seen land-rail utters,

Crick, crack, like voices underground,

...