The daisies (J. Stephens)
In the scented bud of the morning O,
When the windy grass went rippling far!
I saw my dear one walking slow
In the field where the daises are.
We did not laugh, and we did not speak,
As we wandered happ’ly, to and fro,
I kissed my dear on either cheek,
In the bud of the morning O!
A lark sang up, from the breezy land;
A lark sang down, from a cloud afar;
As she and I went, hand in hand,
In the field where the daisies are.