Floral Poetry. 
TO A DAISY. 
B RIGHT flower! whose home is everywhere, 
Bold in maternal Nature’s care, 
And all the long year through, the heir 
Of joy or sorrow ; 
Methinks that there abides in thee 
Some concord with humanity, 
Given to no other flower I see 
The forest thorough ! 
Is it that Man is soon deprest? 
A thoughtless Thing ! who, once unblest, 
Does little on his memory rest, 
Or on his reason : 
But thou would’st teach him how to find 
A shelter under every wind, 
A hope for times that are unkind, 
And every season ? 
Thou wander’st the wide world about, 
Unchecked by pride or scrupulous doubt, 
With friends to greet thee, or without, 
Yet pleased and willing; 
Meek, yielding to the occasion’s call, 
And all things suffering from all, 
Thy function apostolical 
In peace fulfilling. 
Wordsworth. 
