My young heart rose rebellious in my breast; and I ran aimlessly into the
sunlight--the glowing sunlight of June.
I sent out a dumb cry to Fate, demanding larger joys and more delight.
I ran blindly into a field of blooming clover.
It was breast-high, and billowed about me like rose-red waves of a fragrant
sea.

The bees were singing above it; and their little brown bodies were loaded
with honey-dew, extracted from the clover blossoms.
The sun reeled in the heavens dizzy with its own splendour.
The day went into night, without bringing any new event to change my life.
But now I recall the field of blooming clover, and the honey-laden bees,
the glorious June sunlight, and the passion of youth in my heart; and I
know that was happiness.

There are so many little things that make life beautiful.
Yesterday a failure stared me in the face, where I had thought to welcome
proud success.
There was no radiant cloud of dust against the western sky, and no clover
field lying fragrant under mid-June suns,
Neither was youth with me any more.

But under the vines that clung against my walls, a flock of birds sought
shelter just at twilight;
And, standing at my casement, I could hear the twitter of their voices and
the soft, sweet flutter of their wings.
Then over me there fell a sense of peace and calm, and love for all created
things, and trust illimitable.

And that I knew was happiness.