DAISY, I HAVE SOUGHT FOR THEE.

Daisy, I have sought for thee

In the garden, on the lea,

Ever since I learned to roam

From my much loved English home.

Once I owned a little thing

Called a daisy here about,

And it bloomed awhile in Spring,

But the Winter froze it out.

‘ Twas a pigmy flower at best,

Though in red robe it was dressed.

English daisy's lively mien

Never in its face was seen.

When it died I did not fret,

Nor a dirge sung o'er its bier.

Some few plants that I have met

Claimed at least from me a tear.

Now what is it that I see?

Daisies growing on a tree!

White and double — white as snow,

Hundreds of them in full blow.

Let me look awhile at them,

Even through sweet fancy's eyes.

Every flower's a perfect gem.

And as such I will it prize.

But let Fancy stand aside,

Common folks might me deride.

Thinking something ailed my brain,

Should I such a thing maintain.

Well,‘ tis all as one to me,

Fancy still shall have the sway.

That Daisies here grow on a tree

I mean to insist alway!