FOUR-LEAFED CLOVER by EFFIE WALLER SMITH

A cherished four-leafed clover
Lies between
The leaves of my Holy Bible,
Just as green,

As when dear auntie plucked it
From the side
Of the garden gravel walk,
Long and wide.

It was early Autumn, and the
Nights were chill,
And the corn had commenced rip'ning
On the hill.

And the leaves to change their color
Did begin;
For one more gay and showy
Than the green.

While taking a walk at evening
Auntie found
This pretty four-leafed clover
On the ground.

She had walked there oft before,
So had I,
But had passed it quite unseen
Unnoticed by.

But now she stooped and plucked it
From the mass
Of tangled, faded weeds and
Withered grass.

And in handing me the clover
Said to take
Them and press them in my Bible
For her sake.

'Twas the last walk here below
That she took;
And how well I still remember
Her fond look.

On that early Autumn evening,
While she gave
To me, from eyes, so sunken
And so grave;

Her thin emaciated
Hands so pale,
And her slow and trembling
Step so frail;

And her cough so hollow
Told too well
That ere long she fair must bid us
All farewell.

Many, many days and months have
Passed away,
Passed away and left no traces
Since that day

Autie went to live with Jesus,
Upon high,
Where no sickness ever ent'reth
Nor any die.

But where every pain and grief
Is all o'er
And where all are glad and cheerful
Evermore.

Now each day as I do read
My Holy Book,
Of the last walk I am thinking
Auntie took;

And, then saddened, half unconscious,
Drop a tear
On this clover which has lain
More'n a year,

Pressed between my Bible leaves
With such care,
And to me so very precious,
Lies it there.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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