99 
Floral Poetry . 
In proper time the Daisies may 
Rejoice our hearts like Roses gay; 
Who values not the Daisy, ne’er 
Shall stay among our circle here; 
For we will sing a Daisy-song— 
Who likes it not may hold his tongue. 
Full well you all, my masters, know 
How February’s clad in snow; 
But once the thaw-wind sweep the plain, 
And lo, the Daisy blooms again ! 
Thro’ Winter’s raging strife to be 
A token of Spring’s victory. 
Now when that herald I espy, 
I feel my bosom bounding high. 
It seems as though, in joyful guise, 
To life renewed, all dead things rise; 
And Death, to me, says with a smile, 
“ My subjects sleep but for awhile.” 
In Autumn, too, I often see, 
When leaves drop from the sapless tree, 
The Daisy blooms in beauty on, 
As though its morn not yet were gone. 
Heaven grant that once my Autumn hour 
May be like that of Daisy flower. 
I pity much the woeful wight 
Who holds the Daisy’s value light. 
Who smaller beauties can despise, 
On greater things will close his eyes; 
Do now, to teach us all thy worth 
Thou little modest flower, stand forth. 
From the German. 
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