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...CONTRA MORTEM: THE WHEEL OF BEING I by HAYDEN CARRUTH A DREAM OF JULIUS CAESAR by ROBERT FROST GARDEN WIRELESS by CARL SANDBURG JOHN ERICSSON DAY MEMORIAL, 1918 by CARL SANDBURG TROY PARK: 1. THE WARMTH OF SPRING by EDITH SITWELL |