I’OETllY OP FLOWERS. 
1 
DAISIES. 
IX. 
Sweet wilding tufts, that ’mid the waste 
Your lowly buds expand : 
Though by no sheltering walls embraced, 
Nor trained by beauty s hand; 
The primal flowers which grace your stems 
Bright as the dahlias shine, 
Found thus like unexpected gems, 
To lonely hearts like mine. 
’Tis a quaint thought, and yet, perchance, 
Sweet blossoms, ye are sprung 
From flowers that over Eden once 
Their pristine fragrance flung; 
They drank the dews of Paradise, 
Beneath the starlight clear; 
Or caught from Eve’s dejected eyes 
Her first repentant tear. 
THE WITHERED DAISY. 
This little flower, at morning hour, 
Bloom’d sweetly on its parent stem; 
