Summer Is A Prodigal Of Joy. The Grass Swarms With Delighted Insects As I Pass, And Crowds Of Grasshoppers At Every Stride Jump Out All Ways With Happiness Their Guide; And From My Brushing Feet Moths Flit Away In Safer Places To Pursue Their Play. In Crowds They Start. I Marvel, Well I May, To See Such Worlds Of Insects In The Way, And More To See Each Thing, However Small, Sharing Joy's Bounty That Belongs To All. And Here I Gather, By The World Forgot, Harvests Of Comfort From Their Happy Mood, Feeling God's Blessing Dwells In Every Spot And Nothing Lives But Owes Him Gratitude.

-John Clare

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Summer Is A Prodigal Of Joy. The

John Clare

Summer Is A Prodigal Of Joy. The Grass Swarms With Delighted Insects As I Pass, And Crowds Of Grasshoppers At Every Stride Jump Out All Ways With Happiness Their Guide; And From My Brushing Feet Moths Flit Away In Safer Places To Pursue Their Play. In Crowds They Start. I Marvel, Well I May, To See Such Worlds Of Insects In The Way, And More To See Each Thing, However Small, Sharing Joy's Bounty That Belongs To All. And Here I Gather, By The World Forgot, Harvests Of Comfort From Their Happy Mood, Feeling God's Blessing Dwells In Every Spot And Nothing Lives But Owes Him Gratitude.

Topic

Summer

Gratitude

Blessing

The Snow Has Left The Cottage Top; The Thatch Moss Grows In Brighter Green; And Eaves In Quick Succession Drop, Where Grinning Icicles Have Been, Pit-patting With A Pleasant Noise In Tubs Set By The Cottage Door; While Duck And Geese, With Happy Joys, Plunge In The Yard Pond Brimming Over. The Sun Peeps Through The Window Pane: Which Children Mark With Laughing Eye, And In The Wet Street Steal Again To Tell Each Other Spring Is Night.

Children

Spring

Eye