To Margaret W------

Margaret, in happy hour

Christen'd from that humble flower

Which we a daisy call!

May thy pretty name-sake be

In all things a type of thee,

And image thee in all.

Like it you show a modest face,

An unpretending native grace;—

The tulip, and the pink,

The china and the damask rose,

And every flaunting flower that blows,

In the comparing shrink.

Of lowly fields you think no scorn;

Yet gayest gardens would adorn,

And grace, wherever set.

Home-seated in your lonely bower,

Or wedded—a transplanted flower—

I bless you, Margaret!