Poor Marjorie Pickthall! She lived in a time (1883-1922) when poetry was becoming exuberantly experimental, but what she wanted was to create sweet harmonies and pleasant images. She was all for sense and justice and unfashionable stuff like that.
This made her quite a hit with some of the older folk, but saw her despised by the intellectuals (who, of course, always make a lot of noise).
Anyway, here's a poem for Spring - or early Summer, anyway. It's not tortured or original, and it doesn't obviously have anything to say except the sight of daisies makes me feel happy. It's very simple, and the ending is a bit wince-makingly twee, but it's cheerful and bright.
And sometimes that's enough.
Daisy Time
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, oh blow, you happy winds
Singing summer's praises.
Up the field and down the field
A-dancing with the daisies.
Word To Use Today: daisy. The Old English form of this word was dægesēge, which means day's eye.
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