Poetry Archives

The wind-swayed daisies, that on every side
  Throng the wide fields in whispering companies,
  Serene and gently smiling like the eyes
Of tender children long beatified,
The delicate thought-wrapped buttercups that glide
  Like sparks of fire above the wavering grass,
  And swing and toss with all the airs that pass,
Yet seem so peaceful, so preoccupied;

These are the emblems of pure pleasures flown,
  I scarce can think of pleasure without these.
Even to dream of them is to disown
  The cold forlorn midwinter reveries,
Lulled with the perfume of old hopes new-blown,
  No longer dreams, but dear realities.