WILD FLOWERS. 87 
Garden Daisy. 
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 dewdrops cold! 
Sweet daisy, flower of love ! when birds are paired, 
’T is sweet to see thee, with thy bosom bared, 
Smiling, in virgin innocence, serene, 
Thy pearly crown above thy vest of green. 
Tlie lark, with sparkling eye, and rustling wing, 
Rejoins his widowed mate in early spring, 
And as she prunes his plumes of russet hue, 
Swears, on thy maiden-blossom, to be true. 
Oft have I watched thy closing buds at eve, 
Which, for the parting sunbeams seemed to grieve, 
And, when gay morning gilt the dew bright plain, 
Seen them unclasp their folded leaves again. 
Nor he who sung—“ the daisy is so sweet”— 
More dearly loved thy pearly form to greet ; 
When on his scarf the knight the daisy bound, 
And dames at tourneys shone with daisies drowned, 
