DAISY. 37 



There is a flower, a little flower 



With silver crest and golden eve, 

 That welcomes every changing hour, 



And weathers every sky. 



The prouder beauties of the field 



Iu gay but quick succession shine; 

 Race after race their honours yield, 



They flourish and decline. 



Eut this small flower, to nature dear, 

 While moon and stars their courses run, 



"Wreaths the whole circle of the year, 

 Companion of the sun. 



It smiles upon the lap of May ; 



To sultry August spreads its charms ; 

 Lights pale October on his way, 

 And twines December's arms. 



The purple heath, and golden broom, 



On moory mountains catch the gale ; 

 O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume, 



The violet in the vale. 



Cut this bold floweret climbs the hill, 



Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, 

 Plays on the margin of the rill, 



Peeps round the fox's den. 



Within the garden's cultured round 



It shares the sweet carnation's bed ; 

 And blooms on consecrated ground, 



In honour of the dead. 



The lambkin crops its crimson gem, 



The wild bee murmurs on its breast, 

 The blue fly bends its pensile stem, 



That decks the skylark's nest. 



r Tis Flora's page : in every place, 



In every season, fresh and fair, 

 It opens with perennial grace, 



And blossoms every where. 



