Which we a daisy call!
May thy pretty name-sake be
In all things a type of thee,
And image thee in all.
Like it you show a modest face,
An unpretending native grace; —
The tulip, and the pink,
The china and the damask rose,
And every flaunting flower that blows,
In the comparing shrink.
Of lowly fields you think no scorn;
Yet gayest gardens would adorn,
And grace, wherever set.
Home-seated in your lonely bower,
Or wedded — a transplanted flower —
I bless you, Margaret!
A weeping willow lay upon that stream,And all around the fountain brink were spreadWide branching trees, with dark green leaf rich clad,Forming a doubtful twilight-desolate and sad.The place was such, that whoso enter’d in,Disrobed was of every earthly thought,And straight became as one that knew not sin,Or to the world’s first innocence was brought;Enseem’d it…
Come, my Matilda, now while someFew drops of rain are yet to come,In this honeysuckle bowerSafely sheltered from the shower,We may count the colours o’er.-Seven there are, there are no more;Each in each so finely blended,Where they begin, or where are ended,The finest eye can scarcely see.A fixed thing it seems to be;But, while we…
Yet shedding a delicious lunar lightThat steeps in kind oblivious ecstasyThe care-crazed mind, like some still melody:Speaking most plain the thoughts which do possessHer gentle sprite: peace, and meek quietness,And innocent loves, and maiden purity:A look whereof might heal the cruel smartOf changed friends, or fortune’s wrongs unkind:Might to sweet deeds of mercy move the…
With eager wond’ring and perturbed delightListens strange tales of fearful dark decreesMuttered to wretch by necromantic spell;Or of those hags, who at the witching timeOf murky midnight ride the air sublime,And mingle foul embrace with fiends of Hell:Cold Horror drinks its blood! Anon the tearMore gentle starts, to hear the Beldame tellOf pretty babes, that…
My writing, all misshaped, uneven as my mind,Within this narrow space can hardly be confined.Yet I will strive to make my hand less awkward look;I would not willingly disgrace thee, my neat book.The finest pens I’ll use, and wondrous pains I’ll take,And I these perfect lines my monitors will make.And every day I will set…
The fruit was fragrant, tempting, bright,Refreshing to the smell and sight;Not of that puny size which callsPoor customers to common stalls,But large and massy, full of juice,As any Lima can produce.The liquor would, if squeezëd out,Have filled a tumbler-thereabout.The happy boy, with greedy eyes,Surveys and re-surveys his prize.He turns it round, and longs to drain,And…
