“…I but seem to see the fluent plain
Rise toward a rain of clover-blooms, as lakes
Pout gentle mounds of plashment up to meet
Big shower-drops. Now the little winds, as bees,
Bowing the blooms come wandering where I lie
Mixt soul and body with the clover-tufts…”
-From “Clover – Inscribed to the Memory of John Keats”, by SidneyLanier (1842-1881)
