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Here sparrows build upon the trees,

And stockdove hides her nest;

The leaves are winnowed by the breeze

Into a calmer rest;

The black-cap's song was very sweet,

That used the rose to kiss;

It made the Paradise complete:

My early home was this.

The red-breast from the sweetbriar bush

Dropt down to pick the worm;

On the horse-chestnut sang the thrush,

O'er the house where I was born;

The moonlight, like a shower of pearls,

Fell o'er this "bower of bliss,"

And on the bench sat boys and girls:

My early home was this.

The old house stooped just like a cave,

Thatched o'er with mosses green;

Winter around the walls would rave,

But all was calm within;

The bees are here all green agen,

Here bees and flowers still kiss,

But flowers and trees seemed sweeter then:

My early home was this.

John Clare