Where the thistle lifts a purple crown
  Six foot out of the turf,
And the harebell shakes on the windy hill—
  O the breath of the distant surf!—

The hills look over on the South,
  And southward dreams the sea;
And, with the sea-breeze hand in...

From the “Legend of Good Women”
  OF all the floures in the mede,
Than love I most these floures white and rede,
Soch that men callen daisies in our town;
To hem I have so great affection,
As I said erst, when comen is the May,
That in my bedde...

On Turning One Down with the Plough in April, 1786

WEE, modest, crimson-tippèd flower,
Thou ’s met me in an evil hour,
For I maun crush amang the stoure
        Thy slender stem;
To spare thee now is past my power,
        Thou bonny gem.

...
Poet: Robert Burns

So has a Daisy vanished

From the fields today —

So tiptoed many a slipper

To Paradise away —


Oozed so in crimson bubbles

Day's departing tide —

Blooming — tripping — flowing

Are ye then...

Poet:

The daisy follows soft the sun,

    And when his golden walk is done,

  Sits shyly at his feet.

He, walking, finds the flower near.

"Wherefore,...

Poet: