T

AM only a poor little Daisy,' it said,
'Not tall like the Lily, nor like the Rose red;
'Mid the flowers of the wealthy I never am seen,
I have only to blossom each day on the green.
'The Violet has fragrance, the Rose and the Pink;
The Primrose is sweet by the river's green brink;
The gold of the Cowslip is bright on the sea—
All these have a sweetness not granted to me.'
But into the meadows a child strayed one day,
She passed by the Lily and Rose on the way;
Nor gathered the Primrose, the Violet blue,
But went to the field where the small Daisy grew.
And all through the hours of that bright sunny day,
Where the sweet Daisy blossomed she lingered to play;
And the Daisy was glad when, at even's soft fall,
She said that its blossom was sweetest of all.