The Daisy.

TO A. R.

EMBLEM of innocence and love,
The Poet’s favorite of the field,
Thou dost my admiration move,
And food for pleasant musing yield.

A welcome to New England’s soil,
Though sterner than thy parent sod,
Yet genial to the laborer’s toil—
The land our fathers sought of God.

Thou canst not bear the wintry cold,
But shrink’st before the cutting blast,
Still mid our flowers more hard and bold,
However rich, thou ‘rt not surpassed.

Ah ! much from thee, thou simple flower,
Comes up before my musing mind,
The lover’s charm, tho poet’s dower,
While all in thee a beauty find.

The land of Burns, romantic Ayr,
Where thou, sweet daisy, lov’st to grow,
Bedecking o’er its banks so fair,
Where its clear gurgling waters flow.

Theme of the poet’s choicest lay,
Thou charming, bright “wee-tipped” flower!
I welcome thee, this wintry day,
And gladly feel thy genial power.

God’s teachers to the chastened soul,
The fresh wild-flowers of field or wood,
That exercise a rich control,
And move us ever for our good.