_A Field Flower_. J. MONTGOMERY.
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.
_To the Daisy_. W. WORDSWORTH.
Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower
Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour
Have passed away; less happy than the one
That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove
The tender charm of poetry and love.
_Poems composed in the Summer of_1833. W. WORDSWORTH.
With little here to do or see
Of things that in the great world be,
Sweet daisy! oft I talk to thee.
For thou art worthy,
Thou unassuming commonplace
Of nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace
Which love makes for thee!
_To the Daisy_. W. WORDSWORTH.
Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight;
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.
_I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill_. J. KEATS.
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower.
_Home Thoughts from Abroad_. R. BROWNING.
The buttercups, bright-eyed and bold,
Held up their chalices of gold
To catch the sunshine and the dew.
_Centennial Poem_. J.C.R. DORR.
We bring roses, beautiful fresh roses,
Dewy as the morning and colored like the dawn;
Little tents of odor, where the bee reposes,
Swooning in sweetness of the bed he dreams upon.
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