194 
THE fOETRY OF FLOW***. 
TO TIIE DAISY. 
WORDSWORTH. 
In youth horn rock to rock I went 
Fiom hill to hill in discontent 
Of pleasure high and turbulent, 
Most pleased when most uneasy; 
But now my own delights I make. 
My thirst at every rill can slake, 
And nature’s love of thee partake, 
Her much-loved daisy! 
Thee winter in the garland wears 
That thinly decks his few gray hairs 
Spring parts the clouds with softest airs' 
That she may sun thee ; 
Whole summer-fields are thine by right ; 
And Autumn, melancholy wight 
Doth in thy crimson head delight 
When rains are on thee. 
Be violets in their secret mews 
The flowers the wanton zepbvis choose 
Proud be the rose, with rains and dews 
Her head impearling; 
