As thro' the cloud the star."
And Hood, in his fanciful "Midsummer Fairies," sings of
"Daisy stars whose firmament is green."
Burns, whose "Ode to a Mountain Daisy" is so universally admired, gives, besides, a few brief notices of the daisy:
"The lowly daisy sweetly blows—"
"The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air."
Tennyson has made the daisy a subject of one of his most unsatisfactory poems. In "Maud," he writes:
"Her feet have touched the meadows
And left the daisies rosy."
To Wordsworth, the poet of nature, the daisy seems perfectly intelligible. Scattered throughout the lowly places, with meekness it seems to shed beauty over its surroundings, and compensate for gaudy vesture by cheerful contentment. Wordsworth calls the daisy "the poet's darling," "a nun demure," "a little Cyclops," "an unassuming commonplace of nature," and sums up its excellences in a verse which may fitly conclude our attempt to pluck a bouquet of fresh daisies from the poets: