Sad it is to see you crushed by careless feet,
Pretty little clover, with your blossoms sweet.
Grows the pretty clover everywhere we look;
All along the roadside—by the running brook.
Beautiful and fragrant, are these little flowers.
Ah! how we should miss them from this world of ours!
Pretty little clover—scorned because you grow
Without care or coaxing—making little show.
Yet your flowers are sweeter than the rose or pink;
Modest little clover—this is what I think.