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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540231" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To The Daisy (first poem)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Her divine skill taught me this, <br>That from every thing I saw <br>I could some instruction draw, <br>And raise pleasure to the height <br>Through the meanest objects sight. <br>By the murmur of a spring, <br>Or the least bough's rustelling; <br>By a Daisy whose leaves spread <br>Shut when Titan goes to bed; <br>Or a shady bush or tree; <br>She could more infuse in me <br>Than all Nature's beauties can <br>In some other wiser man.' <br>G. Wither. * His muse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IN youth from rock to rock I went, <br>From hill to hill in discontent <br>Of pleasure high and turbulent, <br>Most pleased when most uneasy; <br>But now my own delights I make,-- <br>My thirst at every rill can slake, <br>And gladly Nature's love partake, <br>Of Thee, sweet Daisy! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thee Winter in the garland wears <br>That thinly decks his few grey hairs; <br>Spring parts the clouds with softest airs, <br>That she may sun thee; <br>Whole Summer-fields are thine by right; <br>And Autumn, melancholy Wight! <br>Doth in thy crimson head delight <br>When rains are on thee. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In shoals and bands, a morrice train, <br>Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane; <br>Pleased at his greeting thee again; <br>Yet nothing daunted, <br>Nor grieved if thou be set at nought: <br>And oft alone in nooks remote <br>We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, <br>When such are wanted. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Be violets in their secret mews <br>The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose; <br>Proud be the rose, with rains and dews <br>Her head impearling, <br>Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, <br>Yet hast not gone without thy fame; <br>Thou art indeed by many a claim <br>The Poet's darling. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If to a rock from rains he fly, <br>Or, some bright day of April sky, <br>Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie <br>Near the green holly, <br>And wearily at length should fare; <br>He needs but look about, and there <br>Thou art!--a friend at hand, to scare <br>His melancholy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A hundred times, by rock or bower, <br>Ere thus I have lain couched an hour, <br>Have I derived from thy sweet power <br>Some apprehension; <br>Some steady love; some brief delight; <br>Some memory that had taken flight; <br>Some chime of fancy wrong or right; <br>Or stray invention. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If stately passions in me burn, <br>And one chance look to Thee should turn, <br>I drink out of an humbler urn <br>A lowlier pleasure; <br>The homely sympathy that heeds <br>The common life, our nature breeds; <br>A wisdom fitted to the needs <br>Of hearts at leisure. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fresh-smitten by the morning ray, <br>When thou art up, alert and gay, <br>Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play <br>With kindred gladness: <br>And when, at dusk, by dews opprest <br>Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest <br>Hath often eased my pensive breast <br>Of careful sadness. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And all day long I number yet, <br>All seasons through, another debt, <br>Which I, wherever thou art met, <br>To thee am owing; <br>An instinct call it, a blind sense; <br>A happy, genial influence, <br>Coming one knows not how, nor whence, <br>Nor whither going. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Child of the Year! that round dost run <br>Thy pleasant course,--when day's begun <br>As ready to salute the sun <br>As lark or leveret, <br>Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain; <br>Nor be less dear to future men <br>Than in old time;--thou not in vain <br>Art Nature's favourite.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540231" data-title="To The Daisy (first poem) de William Wordsworth" data-description="&quot;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 who..."></div>
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