rabbit girl Drawing

The birds are gone to bed, the cows are still, And sheep lie panting on each old mole-hill; And underneath the willow's gray-green bough, Like toil a-resting, lies the fallow plough. The timid hares throw daylight fears away On the lane's road to dust and dance and play, Then dabble in the grain by naught deterred To lick the dew-fall from the barley's beard; Then out they sturt again and round the hill Like happy thoughts dance, squat, and loiter still, Till milking maidens in the early morn Jingle their yokes and sturt them in the corn; Through well-known beaten paths each nimbling hare Sturts quick as fear, and seeks its hidden lair. John Clare