If I could be like the clover, Patient and still; Turning from fevered pleasures, Resigning my will. Folding my hands together Softly in prayer; As clover-leaves are folded From evening air. Then I might weave a poem On mystic loom, Delicate, fresh and simple As clover bloom. If I could sweep me bare With God's great broom . . . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW-MADE HONOUR (IMITATED FROM MARTIAL) by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE FEMALE GOD by ISAAC ROSENBERG SONG OF THE PILGRIMS [SEPTEMBER 16, 1620] by THOMAS COGSWELL UPHAM UNDERNEATH THE BOUGH by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS AT A COWBOY DANCE by JAMES BARTON ADAMS NOT DEAD, BUT GONE BEFORE by ANTIPHANES |