| WITH little here to do or see | |
| Of things that in the great world be, | |
| Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee, | |
| For thou art worthy, | |
| Thou unassuming commonplace | 5 |
| Of Nature, with that homely face, | |
| And yet with something of a grace | |
| Which Love makes for thee! | |
| |
| Oft on the dappled turf at ease | |
| I sit and play with similes, | 10 |
| Loose types of things through all degrees, | |
| Thoughts of thy raising; | |
| And many a fond and idle name | |
| I give to thee, for praise or blame, | |
| As is the humour of the game, | 15 |
| While I am gazing. | |
| |
| A nun demure, of lowly port; | |
| Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, | |
| In thy simplicity the sport | |
| Of all temptations; | 20 |
| A queen in crown of rubies drest; | |
| A starveling in a scanty vest; | |
| Are all, as seems to suit thee best, | |
| Thy appellations. | |
| |
| A little Cyclops, with one eye | 25 |
| Staring to threaten and defy, | |
| That thought comes next—and instantly | |
| The freak is over, | |
| The shape will vanish, and behold! | |
| A silver shield with boss of gold | 30 |
| That spreads itself, some fairy bold | |
| In fight to cover. | |
| |
| I see thee glittering from afar— | |
| And then thou art a pretty star, | |
| Not quite so fair as many are | 35 |
| In heaven above thee! | |
| Yet like a star, with glittering crest, | |
| Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;— | |
| May peace come never to his nest | |
| Who shall reprove thee! | 40 |
| |
| Sweet Flower! for by that name at last | |
| When all my reveries are past | |
| I call thee, and to that cleave fast, | |
| Sweet silent creature! | |
| That breath'st with me in sun and air, | 45 |
| Do thou, as thou art wont, repair | |
| My heart with gladness, and a share | |
| Of thy meek nature! | |
| |
