Page:Poems Cook.djvu/280

"Thou shalt become a favour'd thing
With those who sweep the burning string;
The lyre shall echo for thy sake,
That brighter bloom shall fail to wake.
A future son of Song and Fame
Shall fling a halo round thy name;
The inspiration of thy flower
Shall kindle an immortal hour;
And the poor Daisy' in his way
Shall mingle with the Poet's bay.
Thou shalt be bound by mystic ties
To guileless souls and infant eyes;
The lisping ones shall clutch thy stem,
As though thy blossom were a gem.
In Spring-time troops of them shall come
To hail thee in thy fresh, green home;
And loudly glad, with bounding heart,
Tell all the world how dear thou art.
This, lowly Daisy, is thy lot;
Say, canst thou be content, or not?"

The little floweret "colour'd up"
Till rosy redness fringed its cup;
And never has it lost the flush
Of pride and joy that call'd the blush.

"Forgive me, mighty Lord," it cried
"Creation's realm, however wide,
Holds nought for which I'd change my fate,
And yield my blest, though humble state.
The mountain pine may rear its head,
The forest oak may nobly spread;
The rose may bloom, the jasmine breathe,
The vine and eglantine may wreathe;
Of all that springs beneath the sun,
I, the 'poor Daisy,' envy none:
For none can greater homage prove
Than Minstrel's song and Childhood's love."

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