The Daisy. 255 



Thou unassuming common-place 

 Of nature, with that homely face, 

 And yet with something of a grace, 

 Which love makes for thee. 



Oft on the dappled turf at ease 



I sit, and play with similes, 



Loose types of things through all degrees, 



Thoughts of thy raising ; 

 And many a fond and idle name, 

 I give to thee for praise or blame, 

 As is the humor of the game, 



While I am gazing. 



A nun demure of lowly port, 



Or sprightly maiden of love's court, 



In thy simplicity the sport 



Of all temptations ; 

 A queen in crown of rubies drest; 

 A starveling in a scanty vest; 

 Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 



Thy appellations. 



A little Cyclops with one eye, 



Staring to threaten and defy, 



That thought comes next — and instantly 



The freak is over, 

 The shape will vanish, and behold 

 A silver shield with boss of gold, 

 That spreads itself, some fairy bold, 



In plight to cover ! 



I see thee glittering from afar ; — 

 And then thou art a pfetty star : 

 Not quite so fair as many are 



In heaven above thee ! 

 Yet like a star with glittering crest. 

 Self-poised in air, thou seem'st to rest ; — 

 May peace come never to his nest, 



Who shall reprove thee ! 



Sweet flower ! for by that name at last, 

 When all my reveries are past, 

 I call thee, and to that cleave fast, 



3weet silent creature ! 

 That breath'st with me in sun and air, 

 Do then, as thou art wont, repair 

 My heart with gladness, and a share 



Of thy meek nature ! 



