Oh, not the daisy, for the love of God!
Take not the daisy; let it bloom apace
Untouch'd alike by splendour or disgrace
Of party feud. Its stem is not a rod;
And no one fears, or hates it, on the sod.
It laughs, exultant, in the Morning's face,
And everywhere doth fill a lowly place,
Though fraught with favours for the darkest clod.
‘ Tis said the primrose is a party flower,
And means coercion, and the coy renown
Of one who toil'd for country and for crown.
This may be so! But, in my Lady's bower,
It means content,— a hope,— a golden hour.
Primroses smile; and daisies cannot frown!