Classic Poem

Look up, my daisy dear,
Your sweetest smile, do y' hear?
Delight me now as thou hast heretofore,
And woo me into bliss,
In such a clime as this,
Where music dies amid the whirlwind's roar.

Buds open in the light,
The sloe, the strawberry white;
The lark is singing to the gentle shower;
Twitter the birds for bliss,
The flowers each other kiss,
And Spring is tuneful in her violet bower.

Across the fields is heard
The note of cuckoo-bird;
He comes when build their nests the coppice-choir;
And Peace treads through the grass,
I hear her as I pass,
And listening rest upon my trembling lyre.

Here where the breeze blows free,
I'll talk awhile with thee,
Dear daisy! soon my flowing tears shall cease,
And underneath the elm,
In Death's all-silent realm,
My dust shall lie and rest in village peace.

How songless is the crowd!
How roar they round me loud!
But thou hast music, daisy, such as flows
Alone from Nature's lyre,
Now low, now rising higher,
As if a seraph wing'd along the close.

No sound of riot here,
No discord, daisy dear:
Thou talkest with the breeze from morn till night,
And little fairies hymn
Their idyls on thy rim,
And sunbeams clothe thee in their pearls of light.

How sweet thou lookest now!
The poet's pet art thou;
No flower more songful in the realm of green,
Red-rimm'd and yellow-starr'd,
Inspirer of the bard,
Hope's watchful angel mid this changing scene.

Come, let me kiss thy face:
On it I plainly trace
The wonder-marks of the Almighty Power,
Who call'd thee from the earth,
Who spake thee into birth,
To shame the sceptic, blooming in thy bower.

The great world thrusts along,
And little heeds our song;
But we will talk together, daisy dear:
And when I with my quill
Lie in the churchyard still,
Smile on my grave as thou art smiling here.