Of all the months that fill the year,
Give April's month to me,
For earth and sky are then so filled
With sweet variety.
The apple blossoms' shower of pearl,
Though blent with rosier hue,
As beautiful as woman's blush,
As evanescent too.
Apple Blossoms. L.E. LANDON.
And buttercups are coming,
And scarlet columbine,
And in the sunny meadows
The dandelions shine.
Spring. C. THAXTER.
SUMMER.
Ah! Bring childhood's flower!
The half-blown daisy bring.
Flowers for the Heart. J. ELLIOTT.
There is a flower, a little flower
With silver crest and golden eye,
That welcomes every changing hour,
And weathers every sky.
A Field Flower. J. MONTGOMERY.
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.
To the Daisy. W. WORDSWORTH.
Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower
Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour
Have passed away; less happy than the one
That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove
The tender charm of poetry and love.
_Poems composed in the Summer of_1833. W. WORDSWORTH.
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
Of nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace
Which love makes for thee!
To the Daisy. W. WORDSWORTH.
Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight;
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.
I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill. J. KEATS.