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POETRY OF FLOWERS. 235 
LINES TO THE DAISY. 
Ow mead or moor, where’er we stray, 
We love fo see thee, every day ; 
Nor would we harm thy little stem, 
Thou pretty little modest gem. 
We love to see thee every where, 
Dancing amidst the zephyr’s air, 
Or blooming in some sylvan nook, 
Or fringing some enchanting brook. 
Where’er we meet, in mead or bower, 
We claim thee, little English flower. 
Of thousands here more gaily drest, 
We love thee, little daisy, best. 
O’er mead or moor, where’er we stray, 
We see thee, love thee, every day. 
Here thousands woo, with gorgeous dye, 
But none so modest meets the eye. 
These varied hues with thee would share 
The love thy humble cup we bear. 
Still none we prize so much as thee, 
Thou fairy gem of mossy lea. 
Where’er we meet, in mead or bowez, 
We claim this little English flower. 
Of thousands here more gaily drest, 
We love thee, little flow’ret, best. 





