The Clove-tree
And, children, one more,
Here's a spicy Clove-tree,
Growing forty feet high,
Ornamental, you see;
The little round drop,
Fixed the four prongs between,
Forms the blossom or flower,
When it's not picked too green.
Now list, while I tell you,
Clove-trees will not grow
Except in hot climates,
Moluccas, or so,
Where they bloom the year round,
In the sunshine or storm,
With their trunks straight and smooth,
And their pyramid form.
And lastly, dear children,
Clove-trees never flower
Till a half-dozen years
They have grown, maybe more;
Then the buds, picked by hand,
And dried quickly, are best;--
Trees a hundred years old
Often yield with the rest.
More
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