"Green turfs allowed forgotten heap,
Is all that I shall have,
Save that the little Daisies creep
To deck my humble grave."
Again, in his description of evening, he does not omit to notice the closing of the Daisy at sunset—
"Now the blue fog creeps along,
And the birds forget their song;
Flowers now sleep within their hoods,
Daisies button into buds."
And so we come to Wordsworth, whose love of the Daisy almost equalled Chaucer's. His allusions and addresses to the Daisy are numerous, but I have only space for a small selection. First, are two stanzas from a long poem specially to the Daisy—
"When soothed awhile by milder airs,
Thee Winter in the garland wears,
That thinly shades his few gray hairs,
Spring cannot shun thee.
While Summer fields are thine by right,
And Autumn, melancholy wight,
Doth in thy crimson head delight
When rains are on thee.
Child of the year that round dost run
Thy course, bold lover of the sun,
And cheerful when thy day's begun
As morning leveret.
Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain,
Dear shalt thou be to future men,
As in old time, thou not in vain
Art nature's favourite."
The other poem from Wordsworth that I shall read to you is one that has received the highest praise from all readers, and by Ruskin (no mean critic, and certainly not always given to praises) is described as "two delicious stanzas, followed by one of heavenly imagination."[372:1] The poem is "An Address to the Daisy"—
"A nun demure—of holy port;
A sprightly maiden—of love's court,
In thy simplicity the sport
Of all temptations.
A queen in crown of rubies drest,
A starveling in a scanty vest,
Are all, as seems to suit thee best,
Thy appellations.
I see thee glittering from afar,
And then thou art a pretty star,
Not quite so fair as many are
In heaven above thee.
Yet like a star with glittering crest,
Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;
Let peace come never to his rest
Who shall reprove thee.
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;
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair
My heart with gladness, and a share
Of thy meek nature."