8 
POETRY OE FLOWERS. 
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 
(destroyed by a plough-share.) 
Wee,* modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou ’ast met me in an evil hour, 
For I must crush among the stourf 
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, blythe, to greet 
The purpling east. 
Cold blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou venturedst forth 
Amid the storm, 
Scarce reared above the parent earth 
Thy tender form. 
The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
High sheltering woods and walls must shield, 
But thou, behind some clod concealed, 
Or random stone, 
Adorn’st the rugged stubble-field, 
• Unseen, alone. 
f Stour, Loose earth. 
* Wm, Littls. 
