The Rose has but a Summer reign, The daisy never dies.

There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.

Thou unassuming Commonplace Of Nature.

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.

The poet's darling.

That of all the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most these floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toune.