Burns celebrated a mountain-daisy - and Keats featured the modest crimson-tipped flower in this fragment from his Extracts from an Opera.

DAISY'S SONG

I

The sun with his great eye,

Sees not so much as I;

And the moon, all silver-proud,

Might as well be in a shroud.

II

And O the spring - the spring!

I lead the life of a king!

Couch'd in the teeming grass,

I spy each pretty lass.

III

I look where no one dares,

And I stare where no one stares,

And when the night is nigh,

Lambs bleat my lullaby.