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 hand,
Came innocence and she.
Where ’mid the gorse the raspberry
Red...
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 there daweth me no day
That I nam 1 up and walking in the mede,
To seene this flour...
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.
Alas! it ’s no thy neebor sweet,
The bonnie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee ’...
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 with God?
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, marauder, art thou here ?
"Because, sir, love is sweet !"
We are the...
