MOUSE’S NESTBy John ClareI found a ball of grass among the hayAnd proged it as I passed and went awayAnd when I looked I fancied something stirredAnd turned again and hoped to catch the birdWhen out an old mouse bolted in the wheatWith all her young ones hanging at her teatsShe looked so odd and so grotesque to meI ran and wondered what the thing could beAnd pushed the knapweed bunches where I stoodWhen the mouse hurried from the crawling broodThe young ones squeaked and when I went awayShe found her nest again among the hay.

The water o’er the pebbles scarce could runAnd broad old cesspools glittered in the sun.

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