To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
But it is growing damp and I must go in. Memory's fog is rising.
The soul should always stand ajar.
Life is death we're lengthy at.
Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true.
You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself.