The Wren

By John Clare

Why is the cuckoo’s melody preferred

And nightingale’s rich song so fondly praised

In poets’ rhymes? Is there no other bird

Of nature’s minstrelsy that oft hath raised

One’s heart to ecstasy and mirth as well?

I judge not how another’s taste is caught;

With mine there’s other birds that bear the bell

Whose song hath crowds of happy memories brought.

Such the wood Robin singing in the dell

And little Wren that many a time hath sought

Shelter from showers in huts where I did dwell

In early Spring, the tenant of the plain,

Tenting my sheep, and still they come to tell

The happy stories of the past again.