Fair and peaceful daisies, Smiling in the grass, Who hath sung your praises? Poets by you pass, And I alone am left to celebrate your mass. In the summer morning, Through the fields ye shine, Joyfully adorning Earth with grace divine, And pour, from sunny hearts, fresh gladness into mine. Lying in the meadows, Like the milky way, From nocturnal shadows Glad to fall away, And live a happy life in the wide light of day. Bees about you humming Pile their yellow store, Winds in whispers coming Teach you love's sweet lore, For your reluctant lips still worshipping the more. Birds with music laden Shower their songs on you; And the rustic maiden, Standing in the dew, By your alternate leaves tells if her love be true. Little stars of glory! From your amber eyes No inconstant story Of her love should rise! And yet "He loves me not!" is oft the sad surprise. Crowds of milk-white blossoms! Noon's concentred beams Glowing in your bosoms; So, by living streams In heaven, I think the light of flowers immortal gleams. When your date is over, Peacefully ye fade, With the fragrant clover And sweet grasses laid, In odors for a pall beneath the orchard shade. Happy, happy daisies! Would I were like you, Pure from human praises, Fresh with morning dew, And ever in my heart to heaven's clear sunshine true!
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