John Clare’s speaker sinks into a thicket of boughs, pillowed on an ash stump, and delights in being completely hidden. The distant sounds of ploughing reach him, but no one can see where he lies. Sunbeams are rare—leafy armies form a dense roof—and when light does slip through, the breeze cools it and sets shadows dancing. Small flowers, as if wanting to be noticed, lift their heads among the grass. What makes the moment so sweet is the deep, quiet stillness, broken only by the chittering of crickets, birdsong, and bees. Rather than disturbing the peace, these tiny voices seem to charm the solitude, turning it into something nourishing and full of life. The whole poem breathes a mood of sheltered contentment and gentle, intimate connection with the woods.
In Hilly-Wood — Summary
How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs, Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me; Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs, But not an eye can find its way to see. The sunbeams scarce molest me with a smile, So thickly the leafy armies gather round; And where they do, the breeze blows cool the while, Their leafy shadows dancing on the ground. Full many a flower, too, wishing to be seen, Perks up its head the hiding grass between,-- In mid-wood silence, thus, how sweet to be; Where all the noises, that on peace intrude, Come from the chittering cricket, bird, and bee, Whose songs have charms to sweeten solitude.