Yet hast not gone without thy fame;
Thou art indeed by many a claim
The Poet's darling.

If to a rock from rains he fly,

Or, some bright day of April sky,
Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie

Near the green holly,

And wearily at length should fare;

He needs1 but look about, and there
Thou art a friend at hand, to scare

His melancholy.

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35

40

A hundred times, by rock or bower,
Ere thus I have lain couched an hour,
Have I derived from thy sweet power

Some apprehension;

Some steady love; some brief delight; 2
Some memory that had taken flight;

45

Some chime 3 of fancy wrong or right;

Or stray invention.

If stately passions in me burn,

And one 4 chance look to Thee should turn,

I drink out of an humbler urn

A lowlier pleasure;

The homely sympathy that heeds

The common life, our nature breeds;
A wisdom fitted to the needs

Of hearts at leisure.

Fresh-smitten by the morning ray,
When thou art up, alert and gay,

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55

Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play
With kindred gladness: 1

And when, at dusk, by dews opprest
Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest
Hath often eased my pensive breast

Of careful sadness.2

And all day long I number yet,
All seasons through, another debt,
Which I, wherever thou art met,

To thee am owing;3

An instinct call it, a blind sense;

A happy, genial influence,

Coming one knows not how, nor whence,

Nor whither going.

Child of the Year! that round dost run

Thy pleasant course, when day's begun
As ready to salute the sun

As lark or leveret,

Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain ;

When, smitten by the morning ray,

I see thee rise alert and gay,

*

Then, chearful Flower! my spirits play

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70

75

3 1807.

But more than all I number yet

O bounteous Flower! another debt

Which I to thee wherever met

Am daily owing;

MS.

* See, in Chaucer and the elder Poets, the honours formerly paid to this flower.-W. W. 1815.

Nor be less dear to future men

Than in old time ;-thou not in vain 1

Art Nature's favourite.*

80

For illustration of the last stanza, see Chaucer's Prologue to The Legend of Good Women.

As I seyde erst, whanne comen is the May,
That in my bed ther daweth me no day,
That I nam uppe and walkyng in the mede,
To seen this floure agein the sonne sprede,
Whan it up rysith erly by the morwe;
That blisful sight softneth al my sorwe,
So glad am I, whan that I have presence
Of it, to doon it alle reverence,

As she that is of alle floures flour.

* This Poem, and two others to the same Flower, which the Reader will find in the second Volume, were written in the year 1802; which is mentioned, because in some of the ideas, though not in the manner in which those ideas are connected, and likewise even in some of the expressions, they bear a striking resemblance to a Poem (lately published) of Mr. Montgomery, entitled, A Field Flower. This being said, Mr. Montgomery will not think any apology due to him; I cannot however help addressing him in the words of the Father of English Poets:

Though it happe me to rehersin

That ye han in your freshe songis saied,
Forberith me, and beth not ill apaied,
Sith that ye se I doe it in the honour

Of Love, and eke in service of the Flour.-W. W. 1807.

In the edition of 1836, the following variation of the text of this note "There is a resemblance to passages in a Poem."-ED.

Occurs:

To seen this flour so yong, so fresshe of hewe,
Constreynde me with so gredy desire,
That in myn herte I feele yet the fire,
That made me to ryse er yt wer day,
And this was now the firste morwe of May,
With dredful hert, and glad devocioun
For to ben at the resurreccion

Of this flour, whan that yt shulde unclose
Agayne the sonne, that roos as rede as rose

And doune on knes anoon ryght I me sette,
And as I koude, this fresshe flour I grette,
Knelying alwey, til it unclosed was,
Upon the smale, softe, swote gras.

Again, in The Cuckoo and the Nightingale, after a wakeful night, the Poet rises at dawn, and wandering forth, reaches a "laund of white and green."

So feire oon had I nevere in bene,

The grounde was grene, y poudred with daysé,
The floures and the gras ilike al hie,

Al grene and white, was nothing elles sene.

ED.

TO THE SAME FLOWER *

Composed 1802.-Published 1807

[Composed in the orchard, Town-end, Grasmere.—I. F.] One of the "Poems of the Fancy."-ED.

1 1845.

WITH little here to do or see

Of things that in the great world be,
Daisy! again I talk to thee,1

For thou art worthy,

Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee,

Yet once again I talk

1807.

1836.

* The two following Poems were overflowings of the mind in composing the one which stands first in the first Volume [i.e. the previous Poem]. -W. W. 1807.

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 similes,1

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 2 to suit thee best,

Thy appellations.

A little cyclops, with one eye

Staring to threaten and defy,

That thought comes next—and instantly