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That thinly shades his few grey hairs ; 
Spring cannot shun thee; 
Whole Summer fields are thine by right, 
And Autumn, melancholy wight, 
Doth in thy crimson head delight. 
When rains are on thee.” 
For this, not less than for its simple cheerful beauty, 
“ It is indeed by many a claim 
The poet’s darling: ” 
and truly, from Chaucer downward, all the tuneful race 
have given it “ honour due.” 
It seems the peculiar delight of the earlier poets; 
they comment on all its beauties and habits, and the 
profuseness with which it is showered around makes 
them consider it the grand favourite of nature. 
Chaucer thus unequivocally declares his preference 
for our little favourite, which, by a happy transposition, 
he calls “ eye of the day 
- “ Of all the floures in the mede 
Than love I most these floures white and rede, 
Such as men callen daisaies in our toun.” 
says— 
Ben Jonson further 
