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!