It was supposed to cure the bite of a serpent or a
mad dog.
THE DAISY.
The DAISY or day's eye (_bellis perennis_) has been the darling of the
British poets from Chaucer to Shelley. It is not, however, the darling
of poets only, but of princes and peasants. And it is not man's favorite
only, but, as Wordsworth says, Nature's favorite also. Yet it is "the
simplest flower that blows." Its seed is broadcast on the land. It is
the most familiar of flowers. It sprinkles every field and lane in the
country with its little mimic stars. Wordsworth pays it a beautiful
compliment in saying that
Oft alone in nooks remote
_We meet it like a pleasant thought
When such is wanted._
But though this poet dearly loved the daisy, in some moods of mind he
seems to have loved the little celandine (common pilewort) even better.
He has addressed two poems to this humble little flower. One begins with
the following stanza.
Pansies, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there's a sun that sets
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are Violets,
They will have a place in story:
There's a flower that shall be mine,
'Tis the little Celandine.
No flower is too lowly for the affections of Wordsworth. Hazlitt says,
"the daisy looks up to Wordsworth with sparkling eye as an old
acquaintance; a withered thorn is weighed down with a heap of
recollections; and even the lichens on the rocks have a life and being
in his thoughts.
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