In The Clover

by Frank Dempster Sherman

In the pasture's clover deep
There I love to lie and sleep,
Over me the placid sky,
Blue save where his golden eye
Out of Heaven's window looks
In the mirrors of the brooks,
That Apollo may behold
How like me he too grows old;
All about me billows blown,
Emerald as Ocean's own,
By the drowsy gales that blow,
Catching fragrance as they go.

Crusoe of that clover isle,
There I come to dream awhile,
Far from worry, strife, or din,
Shut my island home within.
Deep-drawn breaths of winy air
Are the nectar I drink there;
Hebe ne'er her draughts served up
Brimming such a sapphire cup!
Thessaly ne'er grew a vine
Yielding such a sparkling wine,
Drinking which't is mine to feel
Blissful languor o'er me steal!

Give me then that clover bed
With its blue roof overhead,
There to lie and dream away
All the tedious hours of day.
Pan shall cheer me with his reed,
Fauns shall dance across the mead,
Daphnis tend his snowy herds,
And Theocritus make words
Mingle in soft melody
In my slumber-Sicily
Set the clover sea amid,
As in olden days he did!