I never see a young hand hold <br />The starry bunch of white and gold, <br />But something warm and fresh will start <br />About the region of my heart; - <br />My smile expires into a sigh; <br />I feel a struggling in my eye, <br />'Twixt humid drop and sparkling ray, <br />Till rolling tears have won their way; <br />For, soul and brain will travel back, <br />Through memory's chequer'd mazes, <br />To days, when I but trod life's track <br />For buttercups and daisies. <br /> <br />There seems a bright and fairy spell <br />About there very names to dwell; <br />And though old Time has mark'd my brow <br />With care and thought, I love them now. <br />Smile, if you will, but some heartstrings <br />Are closest link'd to simplest things; <br />And these wild flowers will hold mine fast, <br />Till love, and life, and all be past; <br />And then the only wish I have <br />Is, that the one who raises <br />The turf sod o'er me, plant my grave <br />With buttercups and daisies.<br /><br />Eliza Cook<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/buttercups-and-daisies-2/
