Flower

At dawn, when England's childish tongue
 Lisped happy truths, and men were young,
 Her Chaucer, with a gay content
 Hummed through the shining fields, scarce bent
 By poet's foot, and, plucking, set,
 All lusty, sunny, dewy-wet,
 A dandelion in his verse,
 Like the first gold in childhood's purse...

 Annie Rankin Annan [1848-1925]