Splendor In the Grass

Come; lie with me in the grass Of summer and feel the cool green Blades give ground to our presence here. Smell the white clover my dearest? Its odoriferous fragrance Pales by comparison with you. Look! I see a four-leaf clover, Though rare, it’s not as rare as you; I picked you out amongst a crowd And have been in love ever since. That sun that kisses these flowers Is not as warm as your kisses And the warm rustling summer breeze Lingers long about your tresses Stilled by the jealous Aeolus Who claims all things but you my dear.