The poet's darling. [ Wordsworth ]

Thou unassuming commonplace
Of nature. [ Wordsworth ]

Yet, all beneath the unrivalled rose,
The lowly daisy sweetly blows;
Tho' large the forest's monarch throws
His army shade,
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows,
Adown the glade. [ Burns ]

Even thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate,
That fate is thine - no distant date;
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate
Full on thy bloom,
Till crush'd beneath the farrow's weight
Shall be thy doom. [ Burns ]

Without the bed her other fair hand was,
On the green coverlet; whose perfect white
Showed like an April daisy on the grass,
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night. [ William Shakespeare ]

The daisy is fair, the day-lily rare,
The bud of the rose as sweet as it's bonnie. [ Hogg ]

Small service is true service while it lasts.
Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one:
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun. [ Wordsworth, to a child ]

For every grain of sand is a mystery; so is every daisy in summer, and so is every snow-flake in winter. Both upwards and downwards, and all around us, science and speculation pass into mystery at last. [ William Mountford ]

In the hands of genius, the driest stick becomes an Aaron's rod, and buds and blossoms out in poetry. Is he a Burns? the sight of a mountain daisy unseals the fountains of his nature, and he embalms the bonny gem in the beauty of his spirit. Is he a Wordsworth? at his touch all nature is instinct with feeling; the spirit of beauty springs up in the footsteps of his going, and the darkest, nakedest grave becomes a sunlit bank empurpled with blossoms of life. [ H. N. Hudson ]