The Cross Roads; or, The Haymaker's Story Stopt by the storm, that long in sullen black From the south-west stained its encroaching track, Haymakers, hustling from the rain to hide, Sought the grey willows by the pasture-side; And there, while big drops bow the grassy stems, And bleb the withering hay with pearly gems, Dimple the brook, and patter in the leaves, The song or tale an hour's restraint relieves.
"Poems Chiefly From Manuscript"
John Clare
All silent runs the silver Trent, The cobweb veils are all wet through, A silver bead's on every bent, On every leaf a bleb of dew.
"Poems Chiefly From Manuscript"
John Clare
If this is done carefully, the drawn-out portion can be separated off, leaving only a slight "bleb" on the portion it is desired to seal.
"A Handbook of Laboratory Glass-Blowing"
Bernard D. Bolas