84 WILD FLOWERS. 
None a fonder offering bore 
Than this of mine to thee; 
And can true love wish for more? 
Surely not, Mary Lee! 
To a Mountain Daisy, 
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH A PLOUGH. 
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow’r, 
Thou’s met me in an evil hour; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 
Thy slender stem; 
To spare thee now is past my pow’r, 
Thou bonnie gem. 
Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee ’mang the dewy weet! 
Wi’ speckled breast, 
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 
The purpling east. 
