A Song of Clover

I wonder what the Clover thinks,—

Intimate friend of Bob-o'-links,

Lover of Daisies slim and white,

Waltzer with Buttercups at night;

Keeper of Inn for traveling Bees,

Serving to them wine-dregs and lees,

Left by the Royal Humming Birds,

Who sip and pay with fine-spun words;

Fellow with all the lowliest,

Peer of the gayest and the best;

Comrade of winds, beloved of sun,

Kissed by the Dew-drops, one by one;

Prophet of Good-Luck mystery

By sign of four which few may see;

Symbol of Nature's magic zone,

One out of three, and three in one;

Emblem of comfort in the speech

Which poor men's babies early reach;

Sweet by the roadsides, sweet by rills,

Sweet in the meadows, sweet on hills,

Sweet in its white, sweet in its red,—

Oh, half its sweetness cannot be said;—

Sweet in its every living breath,

Sweetest, perhaps, at last, in death!

Oh! who knows what the Clover thinks?

No one! unless the Bob-o'-links!