And better far that I were dead,
If Maud did not love me.
I love the squirrel that hops in the corn,
And the cricket that quaintly sings;
And the emerald pigeon that nods his head,
And the shad that gaily springs.
I love the dainty sunflower, too,
And Maud with her snowy breast;
I love them all;—but I love—I love—
I love my country best.