Little masters, hat in hand
Let me in your presence stand,
Till your silence solve for me
This your threefold mystery.
Tell me—for I long to know—
How, in darkness there below,
Was your fairy fabric spun,
Spread and fashioned, three in one
Did your gossips gold and blue,
Sky and Sunshine, choose for you,
Ere...
O ruddy Lover—
O brave red Clover!
Didst think to win her
Thou dost adore?
She will not love thee,
She looks above thee,
The Daisy’s gold doth move her more.
If gold can win her,
Then Love’s not in her;
So leave the Sinner,
And sigh no more!
I know a place where the sun is like gold,
And the cherry blooms burst with snow,
And down underneath is the loveliest nook,
Where the four-leaf clovers grow.
One leaf is for hope, and one is for faith,
And one is for love, you know,
And God put another in for luck,—
If you search, you will find where they grow.
But...
Contending with the grass,
Near kinsman to herself,
For privilege of sod and sun,
Sweet litigants for life.
And when the hills are full,
And newer fashions blow,
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy.
Her public is the noon,
Her providence...
The Clover's simple Fame
Remembered of the Cow —
Is better than enameled Realms
Of notability.
Renown perceives itself
And that degrades the Flower —
The Daisy that has looked behind
Has compromised its power —
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.
What tenements of clover
Are fitting for the bee,
What edifices azure
For butterflies and me —
What residences nimble
Arise and evanesce
Without a rhythmic rumor
Or an assaulting guess.
