By Marjorie Pickthall
See, the grass is full of stars,
Fallen in their brightness;
Hearts they have of shining gold,
Rays of shining whiteness.
Buttercups have honeyed hearts,
Bees they love the clover,
But I love the daisies' dance All the meadow over.
Blow, O blow, you happy winds, Singing summer's praises, Up the field and down the field A-dancing with the daisies.