Double Red Daisies
Double red daisies, they’re my flowers,
Which nobody else may grow.
In a big quarrelsome house like ours
They try it sometimes—but no,
I root them up because they’re my flowers,
Which nobody else may grow.
Claire has a tea-rose, but she didn’t plant it;
Ben has an iris, but I don’t want it.
Daisies, double red daisies for me,
The beautifulest flowers in the garden.
Double red daisy, that’s my mark:
I paint it in all my books!
It’s carved high up on the beech-tree bark,
How neat and lovely it looks!
So don’t forget that it’s my trade mark;
Don’t copy it in your books.
Claire has a tea-rose, but she didn’t plant it;
Ben has an iris, but I don’t want it.
Daisies, double red daisies for me,
The beautifulest flowers in the garden.
poem by Robert Graves
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Related quotes
Field Of Yellow Daisies
We met in a field of yellow daisies
Wild and young and free
And she picked a bouquet for me
She loved me...she loved me not
The daisies didn't lie
They knew better than I...she'd go away..yeah
But they didn't say why
Have you ever been in a field of yellow daisies
Where the air is warm, pure and sweet
Just as if the world is at your feet
She loved me...she loved me not
The daisies didn't lie
They knew better than I
She'd go away.....yeah
But they didn't say why
I may fail like petals from a daisy
But for her love I'll always yearn
Each year when yellow daisies return
She loved me...she loved me not
The daisies didn't lie
They knew better than I
She'd go away.....yeahhhh
But they didn't say why
They didn't say why
They didn't say why
They didn't say why
They didn't say why
They didn't say why
They didn't say why.........
song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daisies All Over My Body
let daisies rain on
me and let all the daisies
cover my face my body
let daisies crown my head
my hair, my nose, let there
be daisies everywhere
inside, outside me
i am in love.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Fury of Flowers and Worms
Let the flowers make a journey
on Monday so that I can see
ten daisies in a blue vase
with perhaps one red ant
crawling to the gold center.
A bit of the field on my table,
close to the worms
who struggle blinding,
moving deep into their slime,
moving deep into God's abdomen,
moving like oil through water,
sliding through the good brown.
The daisies grow wild
like popcorn.
They are God's promise to the field.
How happy I am, daisies, to love you.
How happy you are to be loved
and found magical, like a secret
from the sluggish field.
If all the world picked daisies
wars would end, the common cold would stop,
unemployment would end, the monetary market
would hold steady and no money would float.
Listen world.
if you'd just take the time to pick
the white flowers, the penny heart,
all would be well.
They are so unexpected.
They are as good as salt.
If someone had brought them
to van Gogh's room daily
his ear would have stayed on.
I would like to think that no one would die anymore
if we all believed in daisies
but the worms know better, don't they?
They slide into the ear of a corpse
and listen to his great sigh.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Welcome, Dear Heart, and a Most Kind Good-Morrow
Welcome, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow;
The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine:—
Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrow
Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine.
Here are red roses, gather'd at thy cheeks,—
The white were all too happy to look white:
For love the rose, for faith the lily speaks;
It withers in false hands, but here 'tis bright!
Dost love sweet Hyacinth? Its scented leaf
Curls manifold,—all love's delights blow double:
'Tis said this flow'ret is inscribed with grief,—
But let that hint of a forgotten trouble.
I pluck'd the Primrose at night's dewy noon;
Like Hope, it show'd its blossoms in the night;—
'Twas, like Endymion, watching for the Moon!
And here are Sun-flowers, amorous of light!
These golden Buttercups are April's seal,—
The Daisy-stars her constellations be:
These grew so lowly, I was forced to kneel,
Therefore I pluck no Daisies but for thee!
Here's Daisies for the morn, Primrose for gloom
Pansies and Roses for the noontide hours:—
A wight once made a dial of their bloom,—
So may thy life be measured out by flowers!
poem by Thomas Hood
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Two Distant Worlds
who does not like to put some
yellow daisies on your black glossy hair?
you become so beautiful with a chain of yellow
daisies in your hair
where i can possibly touch them and caress them
and how would you know that this is more than just putting a chain of
daisies in your black hair?
you shall never know and that is good enough for me
for i am the simplest man that puts those chain of yellow daisies in your hair
no prince charming for you, nothing special
just another common friend putting those usual yellow daisies in your hair
when our hands touch by accident
how would you know that i have become a forest burning?
this burning fire that is softly killing me
how would you know? your world is open and mine is closed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Red African Daisies
these red African daisies
that i carry in my hand
remind me of mother
and her anger
for once i was her son
and i uprooted all the African daisies
from her garden
and let them all die under the sun
that was during the middle of Lent
when Christ they say suffered and
finally died. That was the time
when knew for once what rebellion was.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mother-Daughter Love
Among the daisies
sat the child,
looking so ever
meek and mild.
Mother sat down
by the child,
looked at her daughter
and sweetly smiled.
Picking the daisies
with the child,
from those gathered
a chain was stylized.
Around the neck
of the child,
she placed the chain
of daisies wild.
Touching the daisies
the deaf child,
looked at her mother
and sweetly smiled.
poem by Noline A.V. Johnson
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Buttercups and Daisies
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.
poem by Eliza Cook
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Dead Roses
He placed a rose in my nut-brown hair--
A deep red rose with a fragrant heart
And said: 'We'll set this day apart,
So sunny, so wondrous fair.'
His face was full of a happy light,
His voice was tender and low and sweet,
The daisies and the violets grew at our feet--
Alas, for the coming of night!
The rose is black and withered and dead!
'Tis hid in a tiny box away;
The nut-brown hair is turning to gray,
And the light of the day is fled!
The light of the beautiful day is fled,
Hush'd is the voice so sweet and low--
And I--ah, me! I loved him so--
And the daisies grow over his head!
poem by Eugene Field
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Meintjes Kopje
Meintjes Kopje! Meintjes Kopje!
Do the purple daisies grow
On your rugged slopes in spring-time
As they did in years ago,
When I walked with one who loved me,
In the days when love was young;
When our eyes held glinted laughter
And our sighs were songs unsung?
But the laughter fell and faded,
And the wonder-song is still,
And the track goes all untrodden
Past the pool and up the hill.
Meintjes Kopje! Meintjes Kopje!
Other years your flowers restore,
But my love who loved the daisies
Comes to gather them no more.
poem by Francis Ernley Walrond
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The Garden
She has a bed of daisies
she waters every day.
She knows when they start blooming
she’ll be far away
The water can she keeps filling,
the daisies are never dry
and their memory of her she is growing
til the day of her goodbye
Setting down the watering can.
It’s come now- way too soon.
Four days left to enjoy
this beauty she has brewed.
No twist of fate can end this need
to leave the place of love,
with all this tender care she’s given,
can she receive no compassion from above?
This morning came a joyous triumph
-the first bud is half bloomed.
Not as much can be said for the siblings
who grow taller –oh what a view.
They love her so and they don’t know
that in a few days she will leave.
BUT understand, when she comes back again,
none of their beauty can she retrieve.
And that is what makes her
so sad and alone
for these flowers she has dutifully cared,
And she won’t be home
when they become full-grown
of their condition on her return she is scared.
poem by D.M.L. Catseye
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Help Myself
A hungry boy
In a town of one hundred more
The food is out the door
Makes me want to help myself, help my-
A river red
Pouring from the side of his head
A bullet through the brain
Make him feel different today
Oh, colder grow the days
Oh, must faster pass the years by
til we die
A treasure not my own
I take it, tuck it, nobody will notice
Well that suits me well
Big house, big yard, help myself, help myself
You know, every once in a while
To help the helpless comes into style
Mercy, mercy mile
1-800-help-myself, help myself
Oh, colder grow the days
Oh, much fast pass the years by
Oh, colder grow the days
Oh, much faster pass the years by
til we die
Summers here were dancing in the daisies
Summers rain burns holes in the flowers
Dangerous hours
Dangerous hours
Dangerous hours
Every now and then
Tv preachers tell of heaven
Redemption for a penny a soul
1-800- help-yourself, help yourself
Help yourself, oh
Summers here, were swimming in the river
Summer rain, come down, come down, come down, come down yeah
Summers here, were dancing in the daisies
Summer rain burns holes in the flowers
Dangerous hours
Dangerous hours
Dangerous hours
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come And Play In The Garden
LITTLE sister, come away,
And let us in the garden play,
For it is a pleasant day.
On the grass-plat let us sit,
Or, if you please, we'll play a bit,
And run about all over it.
But the fruit we will not pick,
For that would be a naughty trick,
And very likely make us sick.
Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers
That grow about the beds and bowers,
Because you know they are not ours.
We'll take the daisies, white and red,
Because mamma has often said
That we may gather then instead.
And much I hope we always may
Our very dear mamma obey,
And mind whatever she may say.
poem by Ann Taylor
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Come and Play in the Garden
Little sister, come away,
And let us in the garden play,
For it is a pleasant day.
On the grass-plat let us sit,
Or, if you please, we'll play a bit,
And run about all over it.
But the fruit we will not pick,
For that would be a naughty trick,
And very likely make us sick.
Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers
That grow about the beds and bowers,
Because you know they are not ours.
We'll take the daisies, white and red,
Because mamma has often said
That we may gather then instead.
And much I hope we always may
Our very dear mamma obey,
And mind whatever she may say.
poem by Jane Taylor
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My First Bouquet
He brought to me a sweet bouquet
that sparkled in the light.
I touched the hand that picked the flowers,
daisies all so white.
When he left I held them close
afraid that I might cry.
If only I could keep them
and never let them die.
But tears that flow
and flowers that grow
can both be dried you know?
Thinking of this brought a smile,
never a falling tear.
My first bouquet would last forever
inside pages I revere.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Bouquet
He brought to me a sweet bouquet
that sparkled in the light.
I touched the hand that picked the flowers,
daisies all so white.
When he left I held them close,
afraid that I might cry.
If only I could keep them
and never let them die.
But tears that flow
and flowers that grow
can both be dried you know.
The thought of this brought a smile
and never brought a tear.
My first bouquet would last forever
between pages I revere.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Lullaby
SLEEP, sleep, my treasure,
The long day's pleasure
Has tired the birds, to their nests they creep;
The garden still is
Alight with lilies,
But all the daisies are fast asleep.
Sleep, sleep, my darling,
Dawn wakes the starling,
The sparrow stirs when he sees day break;
But all the meadow
Is wrapped in shadow,
And you must sleep till the daisies wake!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Butterflies, Flowers, Romance
Multicolored monarch fly,
Flower to flower vie,
Tipples nectar,
While I play guitar
Flowers everyday,
For a buxom young lady,
You and I ready,
For a lusty romance
Kisses cheek to cheek,
The dame and I at the peak,
To pick on, pick
Yellow red daisies n’ garden
Flowers I seek,
Roses and candle stick,
Athirst to smooch and flick,
For sweet red lips
Flowers n’ tears, monarch departs,
You and I aren’t apart,
For true love had start,
Promises not to part
poem by Noel Horlanda
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An old bee in retrospect among the fresh flowers?
['I had three chairs in my house; One for solitude, two for friendship and three for company.']-Henry David Thoreau
Is this the same old garden?
But a juvenile gardener
watches there
and variety of fragrant flowers!
I am just an old guest
with this tattered satin coat
and they do not pay any respect?
I remember the bygone days
How Roses were shivered
When I hummed and roamed around
And Daisies humbly worshiped
when my strong wings fluttered.
O the old age is sad & wearied
and nobody wants to pass a friendly smile
withered flowers too quiet and don't know why?
Anyway, I do not keep any grudges
That I can promise though you ignored?
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Wild Asters
In the spring I asked the daisies
If his words were true,
And the clever, clear-eyed daisies
Always knew.
Now the fields are brown and barren,
Bitter autumn blows,
And of all the stupid asters
Not one knows.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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