Almost with old-time eagerness I try

My fate, and say: "un peu," a soft "beaucoup,"

Then, lower, "passionément, pas du tout;"

Quick the white petals fall, and lovingly

[Pg 41]

I pluck the last, and drop with tender touch

The knowing daisy, for he loves me "much."

I can remember how, in childish days,

I deemed that he who held my heart in thrall

Must love me "passionately" or "not at all."

Poor little wilful ignorant heart that prays

It knows not what, and heedlessly demands

The best that life can give with out-stretched hands!

Now I am wiser, and have learned to prize

Peace above passion, and the summer life

Here with the flowers above the ceaseless strife

Of armed ambitions. They alone are wise

Who know the daisy-secrets, and can hold

Fast in their eager hands her heart of gold.

[Pg 42]

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