Dear Polly, these are joyful days!
Your feet can choose their own sweet ways;
You have no care of anything.
Free as a swallow on the wing,
You hunt the hayfield over
To find a four-leaved clover.

But this I tell you, Polly dear,
One thing in life you need not fear:
Bad luck, I'm certain, never haunts
A child who hunts for what she wants,
And hunts a hayfield over
To find a four-leaved clover.

The little leaf is not so wise
As it may seem in foolish eyes;
But then, dear Polly, don't you see
If you are willing carefully
To hunt the hayfield over,
You find your four-leaved clover?

Your patience may have long to wait,
Whether in little things or great,
But all good luck, you soon will learn,
Must come to those who nobly earn.
Who hunts the hayfield over
Will find the four-leaved clover!

Now put it in your dear trig shoe-
Lovers by scores will flock to you.
Dear Polly, you will always find
Both friends and fortune true and kind;
So hunt the hayfield over
And keep the four-leaved clover!