The Field Daisy

I'm a pretty little thing,

Always coming with the spring;

In the meadows green I'm found,

Peeping just above the ground,

And my stalk is cover'd

With a white and yellow hat.

Little Mary, when you

Lightly o'er the tender grass,

Skip about, but do not

On my bright but lowly head,

For I always seem to say, "Surely winter's gone away."