What does a daisy mean to you? For many, it’s simply a flower that brightens up a garden. But for others, daisies have a much deeper meaning. To some, they represent innocence and purity. To others, they symbolize hope and new beginnings. No matter what a daisy means to you, there’s no doubt that these flowers are beautiful and deserve to be appreciated. These daisy poems pay tribute to the beauty of daisies and all they symbolize. Enjoy!
1. To The Daisy (First Poem) by William Wordsworth
“Her divine skill taught me this,
That from every thing I saw
I could some instruction draw,
And raise pleasure to the height
Through the meanest objects sight.
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least bough’s rustelling;
By a Daisy whose leaves spread
Shut when Titan goes to bed;
Or a shady bush or tree;
She could more infuse in me
Than all Nature’s beauties can
In some other wiser man.’
G. Wither. * His muse.
IN youth from rock to rock I went,
From hill to hill in discontent
Of pleasure high and turbulent,
Most pleased when most uneasy;
But now my own delights I make,–
My thirst at every rill can slake,
And gladly Nature’s love partake,
Of Thee, sweet Daisy!
Thee Winter in the garland wears
That thinly decks his few grey hairs;
Spring parts the clouds with softest airs,
That she may sun thee;
Whole Summer-fields are thine by right;
And Autumn, melancholy Wight!
Doth in thy crimson head delight
When rains are on thee.
In shoals and bands, a morrice train,
Thou greet’st the traveller in the lane;
Pleased at his greeting thee again;
Yet nothing daunted,
Nor grieved if thou be set at nought:
And oft alone in nooks remote
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.
Be violets in their secret mews
The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose;
Proud be the rose, with rains and dews
Her head impearling,
Thou liv’st with less ambitious aim,
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 needs but look about, and there
Thou art!–a friend at hand, to scare
A hundred times, by rock or bower,
Ere thus I have lain couched an hour,
Have I derived from thy sweet power
Some steady love; some brief delight;
Some memory that had taken flight;
Some chime of fancy wrong or right;
Or stray invention.
If stately passions in me burn,
And one 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,
Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play
With kindred gladness:
And when, at dusk, by dews opprest
Thou sink’st, the image of thy rest
Hath often eased my pensive breast
Of careful sadness.
And all day long I number yet,
All seasons through, another debt,
Which I, wherever thou art met,
To thee am owing;
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;
Nor be less dear to future men
Than in old time;–thou not in vain
Art Nature’s favourite.
2. The Daisy Follows Soft The Sun by Emily Dickinson
The Daisy follows soft the Sun—
And when his golden walk is done—
Sits shyly at his feet—
He—waking—finds the flower there—
Wherefore—Marauder—art thou here?
Because, Sir, love is sweet!
We are the Flower—Thou the Sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline—
We nearer steal to Thee!
Enamored of the parting West—
The peace—the flight—the Amethyst—
3. Daisies by Frank Dempster Sherman
At evening when I go to bed
I see the stars shine overhead;
They are the little daisies white
That dot the meadow of the Night.
And often while I’m dreaming so,
Across the sky the Moon will go;
It is a lady, sweet and fair,
Who comes to gather daisies there.
For, when at morning I arise,
There’s not a star left in the skies;
She’s picked them all and dropped them down
Into the meadows of the town.
4. The Daisies by James Stephens
IN THE scented bud of the morning—O,
When the windy grass went rippling far,
I saw my dear one walking slow,
In the field where the daisies are.
We did not laugh and we did not speak
As we wandered happily to and fro;
I kissed my dear on either cheek,
In the bud of the morning—O.
A lark sang up from the breezy land,
A lark sang down from a cloud afar,
And she and I went hand in hand
In the field where the daisies are.
5. Buttercups And Daisies by Eliza Cook
I never see a young hand hold
The starry bunch of white and gold,
But something warm and fresh will start
About the region of my heart; –
My smile expires into a sigh;
I feel a struggling in my eye,
‘Twixt humid drop and sparkling ray,
Till rolling tears have won their way;
For, soul and brain will travel back,
Through memory’s chequer’d mazes,
To days, when I but trod life’s track
For buttercups and daisies.
There seems a bright and fairy spell
About there very names to dwell;
And though old Time has mark’d my brow
With care and thought, I love them now.
Smile, if you will, but some heartstrings
Are closest link’d to simplest things;
And these wild flowers will hold mine fast,
Till love, and life, and all be past;
And then the only wish I have
Is, that the one who raises
The turf sod o’er me, plant my grave
With buttercups and daisies.
6. To A Mountain Daisy by Robert Burns
Wee, modest, crimson-tippèd flow’r,
Thou’s met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow’r,
Thou bonie gem.
Alas! it’s no thy neibor sweet,
The bonie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee ‘mang the dewy weet
Wi’ spreck’d breast,
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet
The purpling east.
Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,
Scarce rear’d above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.
The flaunting flowers our gardens yield
High shelt’ring woods an’ wa’s maun shield:
But thou, beneath the random bield
O’ clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawie-bosom sun-ward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!
Such is the fate of artless maid,
Sweet flow’ret of the rural shade!
By love’s simplicity betray’d
And guileless trust;
Till she, like thee, all soil’d, is laid
Low i’ the dust.
Such is the fate of simple bard,
On life’s rough ocean luckless starr’d!
Unskilful he to note the card
Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o’er!
Such fate to suffering Worth is giv’n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv’n,
By human pride or cunning driv’n
To mis’ry’s brink;
Till, wrench’d of ev’ry stay but Heav’n,
He ruin’d sink!
Ev’n thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate,
That fate is thine–no distant date;
Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till crush’d beneath the furrow’s weight
Shall be thy doom.
7. So Has A Daisy Vanished by Emily Dickinson
So has a Daisy vanished
From the fields today—
So tiptoed many a slipper
To Paradise away—
Oozed so in crimson bubbles
Day’s departing tide—
Are ye then with God?
8. Buttercups And Daisies by Joyce Hemsley
Poets write verses on flowers in spring
when skylarks ascend upon the wing,
but buttercups and daisies seem to be
an ‘insignificant nonentity’.
These country flowers, so well we know
are nature’s queens from the long ago,
waking at dawn… greeting the light,
and at evening glow, saying goodnight.
Yet, trampled upon by you and I,
and taken for granted by most passers by
suffering in silence ~ but nevertheless
they forgive us for our thoughtlessness!
‘Buttercups and Daisies’ is the song
that we recall from summers long gone;
without these petals, fields would bare,
they are part of our heritage, I do declare.
9. Fields Of Yellow Daisies by Marilyn Lott
I can’t think of a scene more inviting
Than yellow Daisies out in a field
Nodding their heads in the breeze
It has such a refreshing feel
Such freedom this field creates
That makes everything seem okay
Green grass and red dirt roads
And yellow daisies along the way
Other flowers add to the touch
Purple, orange and red
A spring and summer miracle
Too much cannot be said
So when I see yellow daisies
Or Sunflowers they are called too
As I’m out driving around
I’ll pick an armful just for you!
The daisy poem is a reminder that we should all take time to enjoy the simple things in life. Although our lives are busy, we should make time to stop and smell the roses. Literally. The daisy poem is a beautiful way to express this message, and it can be used as a metaphor for anything in life. What is one thing you will do today to enjoy the simple things?
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Thomas Dao is the guy who created Poem Home, a website where people can read about all things poetry related. When he’s not busy working on his next project, you can find him reading a good book or spending time with family and friends.