To The Same Flower (Second Poem)
With
little
here
to
do
or
see
Of
things
that
in
the
great
world
be,
Daisy!
again
I
talk
to
thee,
For
thou
art
worthy,
Thou
unassuming
Common-place
Of
Nature,
with
that
homely
face,
And
yet
with
something
of
a
grace,
Which
Love
makes
for
thee!
Oft
on
the
dappled
turf
at
ease
I
sit,
and
play
with
similies,
Loose
types
of
things
through
all
degrees,
Thoughts
of
thy
raising:
And
many
a
fond
and
idle
name
I
give
to
thee,
for
praise
or
blame,
As
is
the
humour
of
the
game,
While
I
am
gazing.
A
nun
demure
of
lowly
port;
Or
sprightly
maiden,
of
Love's
court,
In
thy
simplicity
the
sport
Of
all
temptations;
A
queen
in
crown
of
rubies
drest;
A
starveling
in
a
scanty
vest;
Are
all,
as
seems
to
suit
thee
best,
Thy
appellations.
A
little
cyclops,
with
one
eye
Staring
to
threaten
and
defy,
That
thought
comes
next--and
instantly
The
freak
is
over,
The
shape
will
vanish--and
behold
A
silver
shield
with
boss
of
gold,
That
spreads
itself,
some
faery
bold
In
fight
to
cover!
I
see
thee
glittering
from
afar--
And
then
thou
art
a
pretty
star;
Not
quite
so
fair
as
many
are
In
heaven
above
thee!
Yet
like
a
star,
with
glittering
crest,
Self-poised
in
air
thou
seem'st
to
rest;--
May
peace
come
never
to
his
nest,
Who
shall
reprove
thee!
Bright
'Flower'!
for
by
that
name
at
last,
When
all
my
reveries
are
past,
I
call
thee,
and
to
that
cleave
fast,
Sweet
silent
creature!
That
breath'st
with
me
in
sun
and
air,
Do
thou,
as
thou
art
wont,
repair
My
heart
with
gladness,
and
a
share
Of
thy
meek
nature!
