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English Poetry II: From Collins to Fitzgerald.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

William Wordsworth

378. To the Daisy

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!

Oft on the dappled turf at ease

I sit and play with similes,

Loose types of things through all degrees,

Thoughts of thy raising;

And many a fond and idle name

I give to thee, for praise or blame

As is the humour of the game,

While I am gazing.

A nun demure, of lowly port;

Or 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.

A little Cyclops, with one eye

Staring to threaten and defy,

That thought comes next—and instantly

The freak is over,

The shape will vanish, and behold!

A silver shield with boss of gold

That spreads itself, some fairy bold

In fight to cover.

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;—

May peace come never to his nest

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!