 | Poems and prose writings |  |
131
A CLUMP OF DAISIES.
I.
Ye daisies gay,
This fresh spring day
Close gathered here together,
To play in the light,
To sleep all the night,
To abide through the sullen weather;
II.
Ye creatures bland,
A simple band,
Ye free ones, linked in pleasure,
And linked when your forms
Stoop low in the storms,
And the rain comes down without measure;
III.
When wild clouds fly
Athwart the sky,
And ghostly shadows, glancing,
Are darkening the gleam
Of the hurrying stream,
And your close, bright heads gaily dancing;
Ye daisies gay,
This fresh spring day
Close gathered here together,
To play in the light,
To sleep all the night,
To abide through the sullen weather;
II.
Ye creatures bland,
A simple band,
Ye free ones, linked in pleasure,
And linked when your forms
Stoop low in the storms,
And the rain comes down without measure;
III.
When wild clouds fly
Athwart the sky,
And ghostly shadows, glancing,
Are darkening the gleam
Of the hurrying stream,
And your close, bright heads gaily dancing;
132
IV.
Though dull awhile,
Again ye smile;
For, see, the warm sun breaking;
The stream 's going glad,
There 's nothing now sad,
And the small bird his song is waking.
V.
The dewdrop sip
With dainty lip!
The sun is low descended.
And, Moon! softly fall
On troop true and small!
Sky and earth in one kindly blended.
VI.
And, Morning! spread
Their jewelled bed
With lights in the east sky springing!
And, Brook! breathe around
Thy low murmured sound!
May they move, ye Birds, to your singing!
VII.
For in their play
I hear them say,
Here, man, thy wisdom borrow:
In heart be a child,
In word, true and mild:
Hold hy faith, come joy, or come sorrow.
Though dull awhile,
Again ye smile;
For, see, the warm sun breaking;
The stream 's going glad,
There 's nothing now sad,
And the small bird his song is waking.
V.
The dewdrop sip
With dainty lip!
The sun is low descended.
And, Moon! softly fall
On troop true and small!
Sky and earth in one kindly blended.
VI.
And, Morning! spread
Their jewelled bed
With lights in the east sky springing!
And, Brook! breathe around
Thy low murmured sound!
May they move, ye Birds, to your singing!
VII.
For in their play
I hear them say,
Here, man, thy wisdom borrow:
In heart be a child,
In word, true and mild:
Hold hy faith, come joy, or come sorrow.
| Poems and prose writings | |