Stay, stay,

Until the hasting day

Has run

But to the even-song;

And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.

We die

As your hours do, and dry

Away,

Like to the summer's rain;

Or as the pearls of morning's dew,

Ne'er to be found again.

Robert Herrick

TO THE DAISY

With little here to do or see

Of things that in the great world be,
Daisy! again I talk to thee,

For thou art worthy,

Thou unassuming common-place
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 similies,

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 humor 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

A

Of all temptations;

queen in crown of rubies dressed; 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!

Bright 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!

William Wordsworth

LITTLE DANDELION

Gay little Dandelion

Lights up the meads,
Swings on her slender foot,
Telleth her beads,
Lists to the robin's note

Poured from above;

Wise little Dandelion

Asks not for love.

Cold lie the daisy banks.
Clothed but in green,
Where, in the days agone,

Bright hues were seen.
Wild pinks are slumbering,
Violets delay;
True little Dandelion

Greeteth the May.

Brave little Dandelion!
Fast falls the snow,
Bending the daffodil's
Haughty head low.
Under that fleecy tent,
Careless of cold,
Blithe little Dandelion
Counteth her gold.

Meek little Dandelion

Groweth more fair,

Till dies the amber dew
Out from her hair.
High rides the thirsty sun,
Fiercely and high;
Faint little Dandelion
Closeth her eye.

Pale little Dandelion,

In her white shroud,
Heareth the angel-breeze
Call from the cloud;
Tiny plumes fluttering
Make no delay;

Little winged Dandelion

Soareth away.

Helen Barron Bostwick

TO THE DANDELION

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,
First pledge of blithesome May,

Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold,
High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they
An Eldorado in the grass have found,
Which not the rich earth's ample round

May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be.

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas,
Nor wrinkled the lean brow

Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease;

'Tis the Spring's largess, which she scatters now To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, Though most hearts never understand

To take it at God's value, but pass by
The offered wealth with unrewarded eye.

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy; To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; The eyes thou givest me

Are in the heart, and heed not space or time:

Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee
Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment
In the white lily's breezy tent,

His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass,
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze,
Where, as the breezes pass,

The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways,
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,
Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue
That from the distance sparkle through

Some woodland gap, and of a sky above,
Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move.

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee; The sight of thee calls back the robin's song,

Who, from the dark old tree

Beside the door, sang clearly all day long,

And I, secure in childish piety,

Listened as if I heard an angel sing

With news from heaven, which he could bring

Fresh every day to my untainted ears

When birds and flowers and I were happy peers.

How like a prodigal doth nature seem,

When thou, for all thy gold, so common art!
Thou teachest me to deem

More sacredly of every human heart,