Floral Poetry , 
“BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES.” 
NEVER see a young hand hold 
The starry bunch of white and gold, 
But something warm and fresh will start 
About the region of my heart. 
My smile expires into a sigh; 
I feel a struggling in the eye, 
’Twixt humid drop and sparkling ray, 
Till rolling tears have won their way; 
For soul and brain will travel back 
Through Memory’s chequered mazes, 
To days when I but trod Life’s track 
For “Buttercups and Daisies.” 
Tell me, ye men of wisdom rare, 
Of sober speech and silver hair; 
Who carry counsel, wise and sage, 
With all the gravity of age : 
Oh ! say, do ye not like to hear 
The accents ringing in your ear, 
When sportive urchins laugh and shout, 
Tossing those precious flowers about, 
Springing with bold and gleesome bound, 
Proclaiming joy that crazes; 
And chorussing the magic sound 
Of “Buttercups and Daisies”? 
