Poem by James Stephens

The Daisies

IN THE scented bud of the morning—O, 
  When the windy grass went rippling far, 
I saw my dear one walking slow, 
  In the field where the daisies are. 
 
We did not laugh and we did not speak         
  As we wandered happily to and fro; 
I kissed my dear on either cheek, 
  In the bud of the morning—O. 
 
A lark sang up from the breezy land, 
  A lark sang down from a cloud afar,         
And she and I went hand in hand 
  In the field where the daisies are. 

1. The Turn of the Road
2. The Fifteen Acres
3. Westland Row
4. The Glass of Beer
5. Hate

Edith Nesbit The Daisies ("IN the great green park with the wooden palings")

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