To The Daisy-William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

Bright flower! whose name is everywhere!
Bold in maternal Nature's care,
And all the long year through the heir
Of joy or sorrow;
Methinks that there abides in thee
Some concord with humanity,
 Given to no other flower I see
The forest through!

Is it that Man is soon deprest?
A thoughtless Thing! who once unblest,
Does little on his memory rest,
Or on his reason,
And thou wouldst teach him how to find
A shelter under every wind,
A hope for times that are unkind
And every season?

Thou wander'st the wide world about,
Unchecked bay pride or scrupulous doubt,
With friends to greet thee, or without,
Yet pleased and willing;Meek, yielding to the occasions call,
And all things suffering from all,
 Thy function apostolical
In peace fulfilling

William Wordsworth