With Little Here To Do Or See Of Things That In The Great World Be, Daisy! Again I Talk To Thee, For Thou Art Worthy, Thou Unassuming Common-Place Of Nature, With That Homely Face, And Yet With Something Of A Grace, Which Love Makes For Thee! Oft On The Dappled Turf At Ease I Sit, And Play With Similies, Loose Types Of Things Through All Degrees, Thoughts Of Thy Raising: And Many A Fond And Idle Name I Give To Thee, For Praise Or Blame, As Is The Humour Of The Game, While I Am Gazing. A Nun Demure Of Lowly Port; Or Sprightly Maiden, Of Love'S Court, In Thy Simplicity The Sport Of All Temptations; A Queen In Crown Of Rubies Drest; A Starveling In A Scanty Vest; Are All, As Seems To Suit Thee Best, Thy Appellations. A Little Cyclops, With One Eye Staring To Threaten And Defy, That Thought Comes Next, And Instantly The Freak Is Over, The Shape Will Vanish, And Behold A Silver Shield With Boss Of Gold, That Spreads Itself, Some Faery Bold In Fight To Cover! I See Thee Glittering From Afar, And Then Thou Art A Pretty Star; Not Quite So Fair As Many Are In Heaven Above Thee! Yet Like A Star, With Glittering Crest, Self-Poised In Air Thou Seem'St To Rest; May Peace Come Never To His Nest, Who Shall Reprove Thee! Bright 'Flower'! For By That Name At Last, When All My Reveries Are Past, I Call Thee, And To That Cleave Fast, Sweet Silent Creature! That Breath'St With Me In Sun And Air, Do Thou, As Thou Art Wont, Repair My Heart With Gladness, And A Share Of Thy Meek Nature!