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"To the Same Flower" (William Wordsworth, 1807)

4/18/2017

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With little here to do or see 
Of things that in the great world be, 
Daisy! again I talk to thee, 
         For thou art worthy, 
Thou unassuming Common-place 
Of Nature, with that homely face, 
And yet with something of a grace, 
         Which Love makes for thee! 



Oft on the dappled turf at ease 
I sit, and play with similies, 
Loose types of things through all degrees, 
         Thoughts of thy raising: 
And many a fond and idle name 
I give to thee, for praise or blame, 
As is the humour of the game, 
         While I am gazing. 



A nun demure of lowly port; 
Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, 
In thy simplicity the sport 
        Of all temptations; 
A queen in crown of rubies drest; 
A starveling in a scanty vest; 
Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 
        Thy appellations. 



A little cyclops, with one eye 
Staring to threaten and defy, 
That thought comes next--and instantly 
        The freak is over, 
The shape will vanish--and behold 
A silver shield with boss of gold, 
That spreads itself, some faery bold 
        In fight to cover! 



I see thee glittering from afar-- 
And then thou art a pretty star; 
Not quite so fair as many are 
        In heaven above thee! 
Yet like a star, with glittering crest, 
Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;-- 
May peace come never to his nest, 
       Who shall reprove thee! 



Bright Flower! for by that name at last, 
When all my reveries are past, 
I call thee, and to that cleave fast, 
       Sweet silent creature! 
That breath'st with me in sun and air, 
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 
My heart with gladness, and a share 
       Of thy meek nature!


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