Maggie, the Cows are in the Clover.
Copyright, 1886, by T. B. Harms & Co.
I love to wander by the brook
That winds among the trees.
And watch the birds flit to and fro
Among the Autumn leaves.
'Tis my delight, from morn 'till night,
To ramble oh the shore,
But when I do my mother's voice
Comes from the kitchen door:
Maggie! Maggie! the cows are in the clover,
They've trampled it since morn,
Go, and drive them, Maggie,
To the old red barn.
I'm not allowed to have a beau,
Except upon the sly,
So yesterday he came and took
Me walking through the rye;
We strolled along so lovingly,
It seemed just like a dream,
When just from out that kitchen door
Came that familiar scream:-Chorus.
He took me to a country fair,
We went in a balloon,
Says he to me, we'll go and see
The man up in the moon;
We drifted over toward the farm,
Perhaps a mile or more,
When suddenly I heard that voice
Come from the kitchen door.-Chorus.