See, the grass is full of stars,
fallen in their brightness;
hearts they have of shining gold,
rays of shining whiteness.
Buttercups have honeyed hearts,
bees they love the clover,
but I love the daisies' dance
all the meadow over.
blow, o blow, you happy winds,
singing summer's praises,
up the field and down the field
a dancing with the daisies.
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