"I lie amid the Goldenrod, I love to see it lean and nod; I love to feel the grassy sod Whose kindly breast will hold me last, Whose patient arms will fold me fast!— Fold me from sunshine and from song, Fold me from sorrow and from wrong: Through gleaming gates of Goldenrod I'll pass into the rest of God."

"Still the Goldenrod of the roadside clod Is of all, the best!"

"Nature lies disheveled, pale, With her feverish lips apart,— Day by day the pulses fail, Nearer to her bounding heart; Yet that slackened grasp doth hold Store of pure and genuine gold; Quick thou comest, strong and free, Type of all the wealth to be,— Goldenrod!"

"And in the evening, everywhere Along the roadside, up and down, I see the golden torches flare Like lighted street-lamps in the town."

"The hollows are heavy and dank With the steam of the Goldenrods."

"Graceful, tossing plume of glowing gold, Waving lonely on the rocky ledge; Leaning seaward, lovely to behold, Clinging to the high cliff's ragged edge."

"The poet's darling."

"Bright flowers, whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy and sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through."

"We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted."

"There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky."

"Stars are the daisies that begem The blue fields of the sky."

"The Rose has but a Summer reign, The daisy never dies."

"Thou unassuming Commonplace Of Nature."

"And daisy-stars, whose firmament is green."

"Daisies infinite Uplift in praise their little glowing hands, O'er every hill that under heaven expands."

"Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand Some random bud will meet; Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find The daisy at thy feet."

"That of all the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most these floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toune."

"Yun daiseyd mantels ys the mountayne dyghte."

"That men by reason will it calle may The daisie or elles the eye of day The emperice, and floure of floures alle."

"All summer she scattered the daisy leaves; They only mocked her as they fell. She said: "The daisy but deceives; 'He loves me not,' 'he loves me well,' One story no two daisies tell." Ah foolish heart, which waits and grieves Under the daisy's mocking spell."

"Even thou who mournst the daisy's fate, That fate is thine—no distant date; Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight Shall be thy doom!"

"The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air."

"Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune I saw the white daisies go down to the sea, A host in the sunshine, an army in June, The people God sends us to set our heart free."

"Who can see, or hear the name of the Daisy, the common Field Daisy, without a thousand pleasurable associations! It is connected with the sports of childhood and with the pleasures of youth. We walk abroad to seek it; yet it is very emblem of home. It is a favourite with man, woman, and child: it is the of flowers. Turn it all ways, and on every side you will find new beauty."

"Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep, Need we to prove a God is here; The Daisy, fresh from Winter's sleep, Tells of his hand in lines as clear."

"And a breastplate made of daisies, Closely fitting, leaf on leaf, Periwinkles interlaced Drawn for belt about the waist; While the brown bees, humming praises, Shot their arrows round the chief."

"You may wear your virtues as a crown, As you walk through life serenely, And grace your simple rustic gown With a beauty more than queenly. Though only one for you shall care, One only speak your praises; And you never wear in your shining hair, A richer flower than daisies."

"Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he call'd the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars that on earth's firmament do shine."

"O Love-star of the unbeloved March, When cold and shrill, Forth flows beneath a low, dim-lighted arch The wind that beats sharp crag and barren hill, And keeps unfilmed the lately torpid rill!"

"It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry, For the sun's a big daffodil up in the sky, And when down the midnight the owl calls "to-whoo"! Why, then the round moon is a daffodil too; Now sheer to the bough-tops the sap starts to climb, So, merry my masters, it's daffodil time."

"Daffy-down-dilly came up in the cold, Through the brown mould Although the March breeze blew keen on her face, Although the white snow lay in many a place."

"When a daffadill I see, Hanging down his head t'wards me, Guesse I may, what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead: Lastly, safely buryed."

"Fair daffadils, we weep to see You haste away so soone; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained its noone. * * * * * We have short time to stay as you, We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay As you or anything."

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

"There is a tiny yellow daffodil, The butterfly can see it from afar, Although one summer evening's dew could fill Its little cup twice over, ere the star Had called the lazy shepherd to his fold, And be no prodigal."

"Early nineteenth-century American treats daffodils as a background plant — in their Dutch bulb niche after s and tulips, with little landscape direction. As the century progresssed, the popularity of narcissus increased and warranted more attention. Landscape uses diverged from hyacinths and tulips, not only because of their comparatively muted colors, but also differences in cultivation—sturdier daffodils did not require (nor thrive with) annual lifting and could perennialize, broadening their uses."

"When the face of night is fair in the dewy downs And the shining daffodil dies."

"The daffodil is our doorside queen; She pushes upward the sword already, To spot with sunshine the early green."

"If thou hast a loaf of bread, sell half and buy the flowers of the narcissus; for bread nourisheth the body, but the flowers of the narcissus the soul."

"Why does the world before him Melt in a million suns, Why do his yellow, yearning eyes Burn like saffron buns?"

"Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty."

"What ye have been ye still shall be When we are dust the dust among, O yellow flowers!"

"A host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze."

"Erinna’s sweet crocus, maiden-hued."

"Hail to the King of Bethlehem, Who weareth in his diadem The yellow crocus for the gem Of his authority!"

"Where the dance is sweeping, Through the greensward peeping, Shall the soft lights start; Laughing maids, unstaying, Deeming it trick-playing, High their robes upswaying, O’er the lights shall dart; And the woodland haunter Shall not cease to saunter When, far down some glade, Of the great world’s burning, One soft flame upturning Seems, to his discerning, Crocus in the shade."

"The Windes all silent are, And Phœbus in his Chaire Ensaffroning Sea and Aire, Makes vanish every Starre."

"Welcome, wild harbinger of spring! To this small nook of earth; Feeling and fancy fondly cling Round thoughts which owe their birth To thee, and to the humble spot Where chance has fixed thy lowly lot."