|Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (18031882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.|
|To a Mountain Daisy|
|By Robert Burns (17591796)|
On Turning One down with the Plough, in April, 1786
WEE, modest, crimson-tippèd flower,
|Thous met me in an evil hour;|
|For I maun crush amang the stoure|
Thy slender stem:
|To spare thee now is past my power,|| 5|
Thou bonnie gem.
|Alas! its no thy neebor sweet,|
|The bonnie lark, companion meet!|
|Bending thee mang the dewy weet!|
Wi spreckled breast,
|When upward-springing, blythe, to greet|
The purpling east.
|Cauld blew the bitter-biting north|
|Upon thy early, humble birth;|
|Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth|| 15|
Amid the storm,
|Scarce reared above the parent-earth|
Thy tender form.
|The flaunting flowers our gardens yield|
|High sheltering woods and was maun shield;|| 20|
|But thou, beneath the random bield|
O clod, or stane,
|Adorns the histie stibble-field,|
|There, in thy scanty mantle clad,|| 25|
|Thy snawy bosom sunward spread,|
|Thou lifts thy unassuming head|
In humble guise;
|But now the share uptears thy bed,|
And low thou lies!
|Such is the fate of artless Maid,|
|Sweet floweret of the rural shade!|
|By loves simplicity betrayed,|
And guileless trust,
|Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid|| 35|
Low in the dust.
|Such is the fate of simple Bard,|
|On lifes rough ocean luckless starred!|
|Unskilful he to note the card|
Of prudent lore,
|Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,|
And whelm him oer!
|Such fate to suffering worth is given,|
|Who long with wants and woes has striven,|
|By human pride or cunning driven|| 45|
To miserys brink,
|Till, wrenched of every stay but Heaven,|
He, ruined, sink!
|Even thou who mournst the daisys fate,|
|That fate is thineno distant date;|| 50|
|Stern Ruins ploughshare drives, elate,|
Full on thy bloom,
|Till crushed beneath the furrows weight|
Shall be thy doom!