Floral Poetry. 
7i 
Are there, I ask, beneath the sky 
Blossoms that knit so strong a tie 
With childhood’s love? Can any please 
Or light the infant eye like these ? 
No, no; there’s not a bud on earth 
Of richest tint, or warmest birth, 
Can ever fling such zeal and zest, 
Into the tiny hand and breast. 
Who does not recollect the hours 
When burning words and praises 
Were lavished on those shining flowers, 
“Buttercups and Daisies”? 
There seems a bright and fairy spell 
About their very names to dwell; 
And though old Time has marked my brow 
With care and thought, I love them now. 
Smile, if ye will, but some heart-strings 
Are closest linked to simplest things; 
And these wild flowers will hold mine fast. 
Till love, and life, and all be past; 
And then the only wish I have 
Is, that the one who raises 
The turf-sod o’er me plant my grave 
With “Buttercups and Daisies.” 
Eliza Cook. 
