COOL comely country Pattie, grown
A daisy where the daisies grow,
No wind of heaven has ever blown
Across a field-flower’s daintier snow.

Gold-white among the meadow-grass
The humble little daisies thrive;
I cannot see them as I pass,
But I am glad to be alive.

And so I turn where Pattie stands,
A flower among the flowers at play;
I’ll lay my heart into her hands,
And she will smile the clouds away.