DAISY, WHITE, 
Childhood. 
Come hither, you wild little will-o’-the-wisp! 
With your mischievous smile and your musical lisp; 
With your little head tossed, like a proud fairy queen, 
My playful, my pretty, my petted Florine! 
Did you beg of a shell, love, the blush on your face? 
Did you ask a gazelle, love, to teach you its grace ? 
Did you coax, from the clouds, of a sunset serene, 
The gold of your ringlets, bewitching Florine? 
Did you learn of a lute, or a bird, or a rill, 
The ravishing tones that with melody thrill? 
Ah! your little light heart wonders what I can mean, 
For you know not the charm of your beauty, Florine! 
F. S. O. 
“As then, I see her slender size, 
Her flowing locks upon her shoulder— 
A six years’ loss to Paradise, 
And ne’er on earth the child grew older! 
“Three times the flowers have dropped away, 
Three winters glided gaily o’er us, 
Since here, upon that morn in May, 
The little maiden stood before us. 
“ These are the elms, and this the door, 
With trailing woodbine overshaded; 
But from the step, forevermore. 
The sunlight of that child has faded!” 
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