The Clover’s simple Fame

So I can hang it in my room—And make believe I’m getting warmWhen others call it ‘Day’!Draw me a Robin—on a stem—So I am hearing him, I’ll dream,And when the Orchards stop their tune—Put my pretense—away—Say if it’s really—warm at noon—Whether it’s Buttercups—that ‘skim’—Or Butterflies—that ‘bloom’?Then—skip—the frost—upon the lea—And skip the Russet—on the tree—Let’s play…

Dyes—said He—have I—Could disparage a Flamingo—Show Me them—said I—Cochineal—I chose—for deemingIt resemble Thee—And the little Border—Dusker—For resembling Me—

Not want of friend occasions itOr circumstances of LotBut nature, sometimes, sometimes thoughtAnd whoso it befallIs richer than could be revealedBy mortal numeral

Every time—for Two—So that the Sum be never hinderedThrough Decay of You—Say if I erred? Accuse my Farthings—Blame the little HandHappy it be for You—a Beggar’s—Seeking More—to spend—Just to be Rich—to waste my GuineasOn so Best a Heart—Just to be Poor—for Barefoot VisionYou—Sweet—Shut me out—

The parting with the restFeels easy, as when Day lets goEntirely the WestThe Peaks, that lingered lastRemain in Her regretAs scarcely as the IodineUpon the Cataract.

The Dimples ran along—And still it hurt you, as some BirdDid hoist herself, to sing,Then recollect a Ball, she got—And hold upon the Twig,Convulsive, while the Music broke—Like Beads—among the Bog—