Among all the treasures of the floral world, that which should excite in each of us the tenderest emotion, and most readily stir up in our minds thoughts too deep for tears, is the Daisy,—that favourite of our innocent and happy childhood.
Ah! would we were now as content with simple joys as in the days when that wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower was to us a beauty, a prize, and a charm!
Fig. 30.—"The Daisie scattered in each mead and down."
We wonder how many of our poets have done homage to the sweet and simple "nursling," or rather, whether by any true poet it has been neglected. Cowper reminds us that in
"The spring and play-time of the year"
the village-wife and her little ones go forth to
"Prank their hair with daisies."