100 
DAISY. 
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 humour 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 Faery bold 
In fight to cover ! 
I see thee glittering from afar;— 
And then thou art a pretty Star; 
Not quite so fair as many are 
In heaven above thee! 
