WORDSWORTH AND THE DAISY. 149 



On this hint our great meditative poet speaks, and speaks 

 most tenderly and truly : 



" In youth from rock to rock I went, 

 From hill to hill, in discontent 

 Of pleasure high and turbulent, 



Most pleased when most uneasy ; 

 But now my own delights I make, 

 My thirst at every rill can slake, 

 And gladly Nature's love partake 



Of thee, sweet daisy ! . . . 



" By violets in their secret mews 

 The flowers the wanton zephyrs choose ; 

 Proud be the rose, with rains and dews 



Her head impearling ; 

 Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, 

 Yet hast not gone without thy fame ; 

 Thou art, indeed, by many a claim, 



The poet's darling. 



" If to a rock from rains he fly, 

 Or, some bright day of April sky, 

 Imprison'd by hot sunshine lie, 



Near the green holly, 

 And wearily at length should fare ; 

 He need but look about, and there 

 Thou art ! a friend at hand, to scare 



His melancholy. 



" A hundred times, by rock or bower, 

 Ere thus I have lain couch'd an hour, 

 Have I derived from thy sweet power 



Some apprehension ; 

 Some steady love ; some brief delight ; 

 Some memory that had taken flight ; 

 Some chime of fancy, wrong or right, 



Or stray invention. . . . 



" Oft do I sit by thee at ease, 

 And weave a web of similes, 



