The Daisy follows soft the Sun
And when his golden walk is done
Sits shyly at his feet
He—waking—finds the flower there
Wherefore—Marauder—art thou here?
Because, Sir, love is sweet!
We are the Flower—Thou the Sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline
We nearer steal to Thee!
Enamored of the parting West
The peace—the flight—the Amethyst
Night's possibility!
