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lirik lagu richard mitchley - to the daisy by william wordsworth

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in youth from rock to rock i went
from hill to hill, in discontent
of pleasure high and turbulent
most pleas’d when most uneasy;
but now my own delights i make
my thirst at every rill can slake
and gladly nature’s love partake
of thee, sweet daisy!

when soothed a while by milder airs
thee winter in the garland wears
that thinly shades his few grey hairs;
spring cannot shun thee;
whole summer fields are thine by right;
and autumn, melancholy wight!
doth in thy crimson head delight
when rains are on thee

in shoals and bands, a morrice train
thou greet’st the traveller in the lane;
if welcome once thou count’st it gain;
thou art not daunted
nor car’st if thou be set at naught;
and oft alone in nooks remote
we meet thee, like a pleasant thought
when such are wanted
be violets in their secret mews
the flowers the wanton zephyrs chuse;
proud be the rose, with rains and dews
her head impearling;
thou liv’st with less ambitious aim
yet hast not gone without thy fame;
thou art indeed by many a claim
the poet’s darling

if to a rock from rains he fly
or, some bright day of april sky
imprison’d by hot sunshine lie
near the green holly
and wearily at length should fare;
he need but look about, and there
thou art! a friend at hand, to scare
his melancholy

a hundred times, by rock or bower
ere thus i have lain couch’d an hour
have i derived from thy sweet power
some apprehension;
some steady love; some brief delight;
some memory that had taken flight;
some chime of fancy wrong or right;
or stray invention
if stately passions in me burn
and one chance look to thee should turn
i drink out of an humbler urn
a lowlier pleasure;
the homely sympathy that heeds
the common life, our nature breeds;
a wisdom fitted to the needs
of hearts at leisure

when, smitten by the morning ray
i see thee rise alert and gay
then, cheerful flower! my spirits play
with kindred motion:
at dusk, i’ve seldom mark’d thee press
the ground, as if in thankfulness
without some feeling, more or less
of true devotion

and all day long i number yet
all seasons through another debt
which i wherever thou art met
to thee am owing;
an instinct call it, a blind sense;
a happy, genial influence
coming one knows not how nor whence
nor whither going
6

child of the year! that round dost run
thy course, bold lover of the sun
and cheerful when the day’s begun
as morning leveret
thou long the poet’s praise shalt gain:
thou wilt be more belov’d by men
in times to come; thou not in vain
art nature’s favorite


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