98 
DAISY. 
The lambkin crops its crimson gem, 
The wild bee murmurs on its breast, 
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem. 
Light o’er the sky-lark’s nest. 
’Tis Flora’s page:—In every place, 
In every season, fresh and fair, 
It opens with perennial grace, 
And blossoms every-where. 
On waste and woodland, rock and plain. 
Its humble buds unheeded rise ; 
The rose has but a summer-reign, 
The daisy never dies. 
THE DAISY. 
LEYDEN. 
Star of the mead! sweet daughter of the day, 
Whose opening flower invites the morning ray. 
From thy moist cheek, and bosom’s chilly fold. 
To kiss the tears of eve, the dew-drops cold ! 
Sweet Daisy, flower of love! when birds are 
paired, 
’Tis sweet to see thee, with thy bosom bared. 
Smiling, in virgin innocence, serene. 
Thy pearly crown above thy vest of green. 
The lark, with sparkling eye, and rustling wing, 
Rejoins his widowed mate in early spring, 
