Daisy
WHERE the thistle lifts a purple crownSix foot out of the turf,And the harebell shakes on the windy hill—O the breath of the distant surf!—
The hills look over on the South,And southward dreams the sea;And, with the sea-breeze hand in hand,Came innocence and she.
Where ’mid the gorse the raspberryRed for the gatherer springs,Two children did we stray and talkWise, idle, childish things.
She listened with big-lipped surprise,Breast-deep mid flower and spine:Her skin was like a grape, whose veinsRun snow instead of wine.
She knew not those sweet words she spake,Nor knew her own sweet way;But there’s never a bird, so sweet a songThronged in whose throat that day!
Oh, there were flowers in StorringtonOn the turf and on the spray;But the sweetest flower on Sussex hillsWas the Daisy-flower that day!
Her beauty smoothed earth’s furrowed face!She gave me tokens three:—A look, a word of her winsome mouth,And a wild raspberry.
A berry red, a guileless look,A still word,—strings of sand!And yet they made my wild, wild heartFly down to her little hand.
For standing artless as the air,And candid as the skies,She took the berries with her hand,And the love with her sweet eyes.
The fairest things have fleetest end:Their scent survives their close,But the rose’s scent is bitternessTo him that loved the rose!
She looked a little wistfully,Then went her sunshine way:—The sea’s eye had a mist on it,And the leaves fell from the day.
She went her unremembering way,She went and left in meThe pang of all the partings gone,And partings yet to be.
She left me marvelling why my soulWas sad that she was glad;At all the sadness in the sweet,The sweetness in the sad.
Still, still I seemed to see her, stillLook up with soft replies,And take the berries with her hand,And the love with her lovely eyes.
Nothing begins, and nothing ends,That is not paid with moan;For we are born in other’s pain,And perish in our own.
Words in this poem
- harebell n.
- A small, slender, branching plant (Campanula rotundifolia), having blue bell-shaped flowers; also, Scilla nutans, which has similar flowers; -- called also bluebell.
- gorse n.
- Furze. See Furze. [OE. & AS. gorst; perh. akin to E. grow, grass.]
- winsome a.
- Cheerful; merry; gay; light-hearted. [AS. wynsum, fr. wynn joy; akin to OS. wunnia, OHG. wunna, wunni, G. wonne, Goth. wunan to rejoice (in unwunands sad), AS. wunian to dwell. Win, v. t., Wont, a.]
- guileless a.
- Free from guile; artless.
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- sunshine n.
- The light of the sun, or the place where it shines; the direct rays of the sun, the place where they fall, or the warmth and light which they give.
- sadness n.
- Heaviness; firmness.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Daisy is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #1469; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Francis Thompson, Daisy, in Poems (1893) (1893), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1469, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/thompson-poems/daisy.html, id L01711.
Form and metre
Daisy is 60 lines in 15 stanzas of 4 lines each. The metre is common measure, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 86%). 92% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.5 syllables. 4 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 20% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in common measure.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A crown · turfA · hill · surfA
- 2 -A-A south · seaA · hand · sheA
- 3 -A-A raspberry · springsA · talk · thingsA
- 4 -A-A surprise · spineA · veins · wineA
- 5 -A-A spake · wayA · song · dayA
- 6 -A-A storrington · sprayA · hills · dayA
- 8 -A-A look · sandA · heart · handA
- 9 -A-A air · skiesA · hand · eyesA
- 10 -AAA end · closeA · bitternessA · roseA
- 11 -A-A wistfully · wayA · it · dayA
- 12 -A-A way · meA · gone · beA
- 13 -A-A soul · gladA · sweet · sadA
- 14 -A-A still · repliesA · hand · eyesA
- 15 -A-A ends · moanA · pain · ownA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against common measure. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| WHERE the thistle lifts a purple crown | 9 | ··/˘··/˘· |
| Six foot out of the turf, | 6 | ······ |
| And the harebell shakes on the windy hill— | 10 | ··/˘···/˘· |
| O the breath of the distant surf!— | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The hills look over on the South, | 8 | ········ |
| And southward dreams the sea; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And, with the sea-breeze hand in hand, | 8 | ········ |
| Came innocence and she. | 6 | ·/˘˘·· |
| Where ’mid the gorse the raspberry | 8 | ·····/·˘ |
| Red for the gatherer springs, | 7 | ···/˘˘· |
| Two children did we stray and talk | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Wise, idle, childish things. | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| She listened with big-lipped surprise, | 10 | ·/˘˘···˘˘/ |
| Breast-deep mid flower and spine: | 7 | ···/˘·· |
| Her skin was like a grape, whose veins | 8 | ········ |
| Run snow instead of wine. | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| She knew not those sweet words she spake, | 8 | ········ |
| Nor knew her own sweet way; | 6 | ······ |
| But there’s never a bird, so sweet a song | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| Thronged in whose throat that day! | 6 | ······ |
| Oh, there were flowers in Storrington | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| On the turf and on the spray; | 7 | ······· |
| But the sweetest flower on Sussex hills | 10 | ··/˘/˘·/˘· |
| Was the Daisy-flower that day! | 8 | ··/˘/˘·· |
| Her beauty smoothed earth’s furrowed face! | 10 | ·/˘·˘·/˘˘· |
| She gave me tokens three:— | 6 | ···/˘· |
| A look, a word of her winsome mouth, | 9 | ······/˘· |
| And a wild raspberry. | 6 | ···/·˘ |
| A berry red, a guileless look, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| A still word,—strings of sand! | 6 | ······ |
| And yet they made my wild, wild heart | 8 | ········ |
| Fly down to her little hand. | 7 | ····/˘· |
| For standing artless as the air, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| And candid as the skies, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| She took the berries with her hand, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And the love with her sweet eyes. | 7 | ······· |
| The fairest things have fleetest end: | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Their scent survives their close, | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| But the rose’s scent is bitterness | 9 | ··/˘··/˘˘ |
| To him that loved the rose! | 6 | ······ |
| She looked a little wistfully, | 9 | ··˘·/˘/˘˘ |
| Then went her sunshine way:— | 6 | ···/·· |
| The sea’s eye had a mist on it, | 8 | ········ |
| And the leaves fell from the day. | 7 | ······· |
| She went her unremembering way, | 9 | ········· |
| She went and left in me | 6 | ······ |
| The pang of all the partings gone, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And partings yet to be. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| She left me marvelling why my soul | 9 | ···˘/˘··· |
| Was sad that she was glad; | 6 | ······ |
| At all the sadness in the sweet, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The sweetness in the sad. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Still, still I seemed to see her, still | 9 | ····˘···· |
| Look up with soft replies, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| And take the berries with her hand, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And the love with her lovely eyes. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Nothing begins, and nothing ends, | 8 | /˘˘/·/˘· |
| That is not paid with moan; | 6 | ······ |
| For we are born in other’s pain, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And perish in our own. | 7 | ·/˘·/˘· |
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