DAISY DAY. 
BY MRS. LUCY DEWY CLAY. 
As blithe and bonnie as a bird 
In the merry month of may, 
As innocent and full of glee 
As a little lamb at play, 
With her teeth like pearls, 
And her golden hair 
In clustering curls 
On her shoulders bare; 
Eyes bright as stars 
In the vault above, 
And a little heart 
Brimfull of love, 
Beautiful, ripe and ruby lips, 
Taper fingers with rosy tips, 
Rounded arms as white as snow, 
Delicate, alabaster brow, 
As lilies fair, 
As roses sweet 
From her sunny hair 
To her dimpled feet, 
Oh, type of babyhood most rare, 
Oh, fairy sweet beyond compare, 
Was dainty Daisy Day, 
Flitting among the summer flowers, 
As busy as a bee, 
In the garden, on the lawn, 
And everywhere was she; 
And the patter of her little feet. 
And her merry voice so clear and sweet, 
Made music all the day, 
And all around her loved to greet 
The little elfin gay; 
For all of innocence complete. 
Of rarest beauty pure and sweet, 
Was darling Daisy Day. 
Where, where, where; 
Is my darling baby gone? 
Where, oh, where 
Is my little birdie flown? 
Was the mother’s cry, and long it rung, 
As she searched the garden flowers among, 
For her little wandering one. 
Where have the little tireless feet 
Carried my blossom, fair and sweet? 
Oh, whither does she stray? 
Look under the woodbines 
By the door, 
Look under the grapevines 
O’er and o’er; 
And under the roses every one, 
Look everywhere beneath the sun 
Oh I can’t ye find my little one, 
My precious Daisy Day; 
And everywhere the search was made. 
In every nook 
Neath every shade, 
By the limpid brook 
Where oft she played, 
But not a trace 
Of the hiding place 
Of the beauteous little maid. 
At length beyond the garden gate 
With eager steps they hied 
To reach the meadow, then the wood, 
The plain and steep hill-side, 
And now a shout rang on the air, 
A shout both clear and round, 
And echoed ’twas on every side, 
The little one is found. 
Then each one ran with eager feet, 
And many a hasty bound, 
For just beyond the garden wall. 
On a soft and mossy mound, 
All hidden by 
The tall green grass, 
Lay, fast asleep. 
The little lass, 
Her apron held 
In her hand so tight, 
With buttercups filled 
And daisies white, 
And the long and grassy way, 
She had rambled in her play 
Had wearied quite 
The little sprite, 
Dear, dainty, Daisy Day. 
The little one opens her large blue eyes, 
And gazes on all around, 
Then into her father’s outstretched arms 
She flies with a graceful bound, 
And in childish accents sweetly says, 
“Oh, take me to mamma dear, 
I’m oh, so tired of running around, 
I’ve been ever so long out here.” 
They fly with her to the cottage door, 
She is in her mother’s arms once more, 
Ah, never again to stray ; 
And as she kisses her o’er and o’er, 
She prays that sorrow like this, no more 
Shall be hers, for Daisy Day. 
* * * * * * 
Old time has passed so surely on 
The years have come and gone; 
Winter moons have waxed and waned, 
And summer suns have shone, 
And round the little cottage home, 
The roses are again in bloom, 
And the singing birds have come, 
The moss pinks red 
From their soft green bed 
Are springing up once more; 
And the wood-bines climb, 
In the sweet spring time, 
Above the cottage door. 
And the apple blooms 
Shed sweet perfumes, 
And in their best array 
Are tulips bright. 
And lilies white, 
For ’tis the merry May. 
