To Margaret W------

Margaret, in happy hour Christen'd from that humble flower Which we a daisy call! May thy pretty name-sake be In all things a type of thee, And image thee in all. Like it you show a modest face, An unpretending native grace;— The tulip, and the pink, The china and the damask rose, And every flaunting flower that blows, In the comparing shrink. Of lowly fields you think no scorn; Yet gayest gardens would adorn, And grace, wherever set. Home-seated in your lonely bower, Or wedded—a transplanted flower— I bless you, Margaret!