Clover-Blossom

In a quiet, pleasant meadow, Beneath a summer sky, Where green old trees their branches waved, And winds went singing by; Where a little brook went rippling So musically low, And passing clouds cast shadows On the waving grass below; Where low, sweet notes of brooding birds Stole out on the fragrant air, And golden sunlight shone undimmed On al1 most fresh and fair;-- There bloomed a lovely sisterhood Of happy little flowers, Together in this pleasant home, Through quiet summer hours. No rude hand came to gather them, No chilling winds to blight; Warm sunbeams smiled on them by day, And soft dews fell at night. So here, along the brook-side, Beneath the green old trees, The flowers dwelt among their friends, The sunbeams and the breeze. One morning, as the flowers awoke, Fragrant, and fresh, and fair, A little worm came creeping by, And begged a shelter there. "Ah! pity and love me," sighed the worm, "I am lonely, poor, and weak; A little spot for a resting-plaee, Dear flowers, is all I seek. I am not fair, and have dwelt unloved By butterfly, bird, and bee. They little knew that in this dark form Lay the beauty they yet may see. Then let me lie in the deep green moss, And weave my little tomb, And sleep my long, unbroken sleep Till Spring's first flowers come. Then will I come in a fairer dress, And your gentle care repay By the grateful love of the humble worm; Kind flowers, O let me stay!" But the wild rose showed her little thorns, While her soft face glowed with pride; The violet hid beneath the drooping ferns, And the daisy turned aside. Little Houstonia seornfully laughed, As she danced on her slender stem; While the cowslip bent to the rippling waves, And whispered the tale to them. A blue-eyed grass looked down on the worm, As it silently turned away, And cried, "Thou wilt harm our delicate leaves, And therefore thou canst not stay." Then a sweet, soft voice, called out from far, "Come hither, poor worm, to me; The sun lies warm in this quiet spot, And I'11 share my home with thee." The wondering flowers looked up to see Who had offered the worm a home: 'T was a clover-blossom, whose fluttering leaves Seemed beckoning him to come; It dwelt in a sunny little nook, Where cool winds rustled by, And murmuring bees and butterflies came, On the flower's breast to lie. Down through the leaves the sunlight stole, And seemed to linger there, As if it loved to brighten the home Of one so sweet and fair. Its rosy face smiled kindly down, As the friendless worm drew near; And its low voice, softly whispering, said "Poor thing, thou art welcome here; Close at my side, in the soft green moss, Thou wilt find a quiet bed, Where thou canst softly sleep till Spring, With my leaves above thee spread. I pity and love thee, friendless worm, Though thou art not graceful or fair; For many a dark, unlovely form, Hath a kind heart dwelling there; No more o'er the green and pleasant earth, Lonely and poor, shalt thou