The Daisies.

You very fine Miss Molly,
What will the daisies say,
If you carry home so many
Of their little friends to-day?

Perhaps you take a sister,
Perhaps you take a brother,
Or two little daisies who
Were fond of one another.

Kate Greenaway

Kate Greenaway was a renowned English Victorian artist and writer known for her children's book illustrations. Her work, characterized by quaint, nostalgic depictions of children and rural life, achieved remarkable popularity in the late 19th century. Greenaway's unique style, often inspired by Regency-era fashion, has had a lasting influence on children's literature and illustration.

Kate Greenaway

The Tea Party.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

The Wedding Bells.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

Street Show.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

Tip-A-Toe.

Kate Greenaway, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Miss Molly And The Little Fishes.

Oh, sweet Miss Molly,
You're so fond
Of Fishes in a little Pond.
And perhaps they're glad
To see you stare
With such bright eyes
Upon them there.
And when your fingers and your thumbs
Drop slowly in the small white crumbs
I hope they're happy. Only this
When you've looked long enough, sweet miss.
Then, most beneficent young giver,
Restore them to their native river.

Kate Greenaway

Little Phillis.

I am a very little girl,
I think that I've turned two;
And if you'd like to know my name
I'd like to tell it you.

They always call me Baby,
But Phillis is my name.
No no one ever gave it me,
I think it only came.

I've got a pretty tulip
In my little flower-bed;
If you would like I'll give it you
It's yellow, striped with red.

I've got a little kitten, but
I can't give that away,
She likes to play with me so much;
She's gone to sleep to-day.

And I've got a nice new dolly,
Shall I fetch her out to you?
She's got such pretty shoes on,
And her bonnet's trimmed with blue.

You'd like to take her home with you?
Oh, no, she mustn't go;
Good-bye I want to run now,
You walk along so slow.

Kate Greenaway

The Daisy.

    See where it stands, the world-appointed flower,
    Pure gold at centre, like the sun at noon, -
    A mimic sun to light a true-love bower
    For fair Queen Mab, now dead or in a swoon,
    Whom late a poet saw beneath the moon.
    It lifts its dainty face till sunset hour,
    As if endowed with nympholeptic power, -
    Then shuts its petals like a folding tune!
    I love it more than words of mine can say,
    And more than anchorite may breathe in prayer.
    Methinks the lark has made it still his care
    To brag of daisies to the lord of day.
    Well! I will follow suit, as best I may,
    Launching my love-songs on the summer air.

Eric Mackay

The Daisy

An angel found a daisy where it lay
On Heaven's highroad of transparent gold,
And, turning to one near, he said, "I pray,
Tell me what manner of strange bloom I hold.
You came a long, long way - perchance you know
In what far country such fair flowers blow?"

Then spoke the other: "Turn thy radiant face
And gaze with me down purple depth of space.
See, where the stars lie spilled upon the night,
Like amber beads that hold a yellow light.
Note one that burns with faint yet steady glow;
It is the Earth - and there these blossoms grow.
Some little child from that dear, distant land
Hath borne this hither in his dimpled hand."

Still gazed he down. "Ah, friend," he said, "I, too,
Oft crossed the fields at home where daisies grew."

Virna Sheard

Content.

I have been wandering where the daisies grow,
    Great fields of tall, white daisies, and I saw
    Them bend reluctantly, and seem to draw
Away in pride when the fresh breeze would blow
    From timothy and yellow buttercup,
    So by their fearless beauty lifted up.

Yet must they bend at the strong breeze's will,
    Bright, flawless things, whether in wrath he sweep
    Or, as oftimes, in mood caressing, creep
Over the meadows and adown the hill.
    So Love in sport or truth, as Fates allow,
    Blows over proud young hearts, and bids them bow.

So beautiful is it to live, so sweet
    To hear the ripple of the bobolink,
    To smell the clover blossoms white and pink,
To feel oneself far from the dusty street,
    From dusty souls, from all th...

Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley

Little Girls And Little Lambs.

In the May-time flowers grow;
Little girls in meadows go;
Little lambs frisk with delight,
And in the green grass sleep at night.
Little birds sing all the day,
Oh, in such a happy way!
All the day the sun is bright,
Little stars shine all the night.
The Cowslip says to the Primrose,
"How soft the little Spring wind blows!"
The Daisy and the Buttercup
Sing every time that they look up.
For beneath the sweet blue sky
They see a pretty Butterfly;
The Butterfly, when he looks down,
Says, "What a pretty Flower Town!"

Kate Greenaway