Daisies
Always in summertime I wish that I
Might stare astonished as a daisy’s eye
That looks on every dawn as though it were
The eastern sky’s first lanterned traveler,
And at the sun of noon burning molten-bright,
As though it were the earth’s last show of light.
There is no thing on earth but it is new
To any daisy’s eye: the fleeting blue
Of butterfly wings, the sudden golden drone
A bee composes over the scented cone
Of clover blossoms; the repeated sight
Of daylight going, and the coming night.
The first crust of a new moon, or the last,
Alerts a daisy’s eye and holds it fast.
Always in summertime I wish that I
Might stare astonished as a daisy’s eye