Jean Ingelow

"O fateful flower beside the rill--
The Daffodil, the daffodil!"

"O fateful flower beside the rill--
The Daffodil, the daffodil!"

And O the buttercups! that field
O' the cloth of gold, when pennons swam--
Where France set read more

And O the buttercups! that field
O' the cloth of gold, when pennons swam--
Where France set up his lilied shield,
His oriflamb,
And Henry's lion-standard rolled:
What was it to their matchless sheen,
Their million million drops of gold
Among the green!

Her face betokened all things dear and good,
The light of somewhat yet to come was there
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Her face betokened all things dear and good,
The light of somewhat yet to come was there
Asleep, and waiting for the opening day,
When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.

And bitter waxed the fray;
Brother with brother spake no word
When they met in the way.

And bitter waxed the fray;
Brother with brother spake no word
When they met in the way.

How gently rock yon poplars high
Against the reach of primrose sky
With heaven's pale candles stored.

How gently rock yon poplars high
Against the reach of primrose sky
With heaven's pale candles stored.