I Love The Little Daisies On The Lawn Which Contemplate With Wide And Placid Eyes The Blue And White Enamel Of The Skies - The Larks Which Sing Their Mattin-Song At Dawn, High O'Er The Earth, And See The New Day Born, All Stained With Amethyst And Amber Dyes. I Love The Shadowy Woodland'S Hidden Prize Of Fragrant Violets, Which The Dewy Morn Doth Open Gently Underneath The Trees To Cast Elusive Perfume On Each Hour - The Waving Clover, Full Of Drowsy Bees, That Take Their Murmurous Way From Flower To Flower. Who Could But Think - Deep In Some Sun-Flecked Glade - How God Must Love These Things That He Has Made? Eastchurch, 1916.