Poetry Corner

We have just come across this lovely poem by an 18th century poet, and as Conigre Mead has so many interesting insects we thought it so wonderfully describes this fascinating part of its natural history.

Insects  -  by John Clare (1793-1864)

Thou tiny loiterer on the barley's beard
And happy unit of a numerous herd
Of playfellows the laughing summer brings
Mocking the sunshine in their glittering wings.
How merrily they creep and run and fly;
No kin they bear to labour's drudgery,
Smoothing the velvet of the pale hedge rose,
And where they fly for dinner no one knows;
The dewdrops feed them not - they love the shine
Of noon, whose sun may bring them golden wine.
All day they're playing in their Sunday dress
Till night goes sleep and they can do no less,
Then in the heath bell's silken hood they fly
And like to princes in their slumber lie
From coming night and dropping dews and all,
In silken beds and roomy painted hall.
So happily they spend their summer day
Now in the cornfields, now the new mown hay
One almost fancies that such happy things
In coloured hoods and richly burnished wings
Are fairy folk in splendid masquerade
Disguised through fear, of mortal folk afraid,
Keeping their merry pranks a mystery still
Lest glaring day should do their secrets ill.

Migrant Hawker October