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!