48
And doune on knees anon right I me sette,
And as I could, this freshe floure I grette,
Kneeling alway, till it unclosed was,
Upon the smale, softe, swete gras,
That was with floures swete embrouded all,
Of soch swetenesse, and soch odour all,
That for to speake of gomme, herbe or tree,
Comparison may not ymaked be,
For it surmounteth plainly all odoures,
And of the rich beaute of the floures:
•••••
And leaning on my elbow and my side
The longe day I shope me to abide,
For nothing els, and I shall not lie,
But for to looke upon the daisie,
That well by reason men it calle may,
The daisie, or else the iye of the day,
The Emprise, and floure of floures all,
I pray to God that faire mote she fall,
And all that loven floures for her sake:
•••••
Whan that the Sunne out of the south gan west,
And that this floure gan close, and gan to rest;
For darkness of the night, the which she dred,
Home to mine house full swiftly I me sped,
To gone to rest, and earely for to rise,
To seene this floure to sprede, as I devise.
The daisy has never received homage like Chaucer's; nor has any flower (Shakspeare's Love-in-idleness alone excepted) become so entirely associated with a poet's fame. How simply, and how lovingly he paints his affection for this darling of the year! Coleridge justly remarked, "how well we seem to know Chaucer;" and in these lovely descriptions of his early and late watchings of his favourite flower, how completely we seem
