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Show by WILBUR D NE,fEIT ) M4 f v 1 ' Wcfcr! ,n'XJ:Si "Sir?: . A field of red clover Where bumblebees tumble And slip and turn over And mumble and grumble The blossoms drip sweetness The dew is distilling When to all completeness ' Their petals are filling. The morning light dances From clover to clover; In shimmering glances The field it runs over. And sweeter and cleaner It seems to grow daily. Its leaves flashing greener And nodding all gayly. The breeze runs above It And zephyrs float after To toss It and love it With mystical laughter. A field of red clover The reddest and barest, And all the world over Of pictures the fairest. And isn't it bent in A marvelous pity That children are pent in The streets of the city! Whose blame is the biunder That no child runs over, 1 The scent-tangled wonder, , A field of red clover? The blossoms are sigldng For children all sunny To come to them flying And suck out their honey. The city Is yonder And here, the red clover? And thus po we blunder Things, over and over. |