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James Whitcomb Riley - The Clover
Work rating: Low

Some sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose,
   And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime
          throws
In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays
Blinkin` up at the skyes through the sunshiney days;
But what is the lily and all of the rest
Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his brest
That was dipped brimmin` full of the honey and dew
Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew?
I never set eyes on a clover-field now,
Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow,
But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plane
As the smell of the clover I`m sniffin` again;
And I wunder away in a bare-footed dream,
Whare I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam
With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love
Ere it wept ore the graves that I`m weepin` above.

And so I love clover--it seems like a part
Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart;
And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow
And thank the good God as I`m thankin` Him now;
And I pray to Him still fer the stren`th when I die,
To go out in the clover and tell it good-bye,
And lovin`ly nestle my face in its bloom
While my soul slips away on a breth of purfume
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