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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419559" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Young Lambs</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419559" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The spring is coming by a many signs;<br>The trays are up, the hedges broken down,<br>That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines<br>Like some old antique fragment weathered brown.<br>And where suns peep, in every sheltered place,<br>The little early buttercups unfold<br>A glittering star or two--till many trace<br>The edges of the blackthorn clumps in gold.<br>And then a little lamb bolts up behind<br>The hill and wags his tail to meet the yoe,<br>And then another, sheltered from the wind,<br>Lies all his length as dead--and lets me go<br>Close bye and never stirs but baking lies,<br>With legs stretched out as though he could not rise.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+Clare">John Clare</a></strong></div>

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