The Clover

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