50 
TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON. 
Sliut not SO soon; the dull-eyed night 
Ha’s not as yet begunne 
To make a seizure on the light, 
Or to seale up the sunne. 
No marigolds yet closed are, 
No shadowes greate appeare; 
Nor doth the early shepheard’s starre 
Shine like a spangle here. 
Stay but till my Julia close 
Her life-begetting eye ; 
And let the whole world then dispose 
It selfe to live or dye. 
Among the poetic groups of Spring Flowers, culled from the 
rich paiterre of Britain’s noble and immortal Bards, I cannot 
omit the following exquisite description of the vernal season, 
by Gawain Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld. The epithets in it 
are often peculiarly happy; but to those of my readers who 
think Chaucer’s language obscure these truly beautiful lines 
will seem utterly unintelligible, even with the glossary ap¬ 
pended. 
And blissful blossoms in the bloomed sward 
Submit their heads in the young sun's safe-guard : 
Ivy-leaves rank o’erspread the Barmekyn^ wall; 
The bloomed hawthorn clad his pykis''^ all 
Foi’th of fresh burgeons f the wine-grapis ying 
Endlong the twistis did on trestles Iiing, 
“ Bttrniekyn —old mound, barbican. b Pykis — thorns, 
c Burgeons —buds. 
