“她的神通教会了我:我能从所见的每一件事物中汲取某种启示，透过最卑微的事物，把欢乐提升到极致。被泉水的潺潺声，或最细小的树枝的沙沙声;由一朵雏菊，它的叶子在泰坦睡觉时展开;或是阴凉的灌木或树;她对我的影响比大自然的美对其他智者的影响更大。”g .枯萎。他的缪斯女神。年轻时，我从一块岩石走到另一块岩石，从一座山走到另一座山，我的快乐高涨而狂暴，我在最不安的时候最高兴;但现在我自己的快乐——我的渴在每一条小溪都能解渴，大自然的爱欢欢喜喜地分享你，可爱的雏菊!冬天戴着花环，把他的几根白发稀疏地点缀起来; Spring parts the clouds with softest airs, That she may sun 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; Pleased at his greeting thee again; Yet nothing daunted, Nor grieved if thou be set at nought: 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 choose; 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, Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie Near the green holly, And wearily at length should fare; He needs 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 couched 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. Fresh-smitten by the morning ray, When thou art up, alert and gay, Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play With kindred gladness: And when, at dusk, by dews opprest Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest Hath often eased my pensive breast Of careful sadness. 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. Child of the Year! that round dost run Thy pleasant course,--when day's begun As ready to salute the sun As lark or leveret, Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain; Nor be less dear to future men Than in old time;--thou not in vain Art Nature's favourite.