T 0 A DAISY. 
BY WOBDSWOETH. 
Bright flower, whose home is every where ! 
A pilgrim bold in Nature’s care, 
And oft, 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 through! 
And wherefore ? Man is soon deprest; 
A thoughtless thing who, once unblest. 
Does little on his memory rest. 
Or on his reason : 
But thou wouldst teach him how to find 
A shelter under every wind ; 
A hope for times that are unkind, 
And every season. 
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