DAISY. 
77 
Sweet Flower! for by that name at last, 
When all my reveries are past, 
I call thee, and to that cleave fast. 
Sweet silent creature! 
That breath’st with me in sun and air, 
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 
My heart with gladness, and a share 
Of thy meek nature! 
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH. 
BURNS. 
Small, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou’st met me in an evil hour, 
For I must crush among the stoure 
Thy slender stem: 
To spare thee now is past my power, 
Thou bonny gem ! 
Alas! ’tis not thy neighbour sweet. 
The bonny lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee ’mong the dewy wheat, 
With speckled breast — 
When upward springing, blithe to greet 
The purpling east. 
Cold blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early humble birth; 
