Classic Poem

I ask not what the learned name,
Thou hast in College book;
I feel thou would'st the question blame,
Blue Flower! with thy bright look.

I'll ask then of yon playful child,
That stooped to pluck thee there;
What name she gave thee, when she smiled,
And placed thee in her hair.

Her prattling tongue shall frame for me
A name of sweeter tone,
Than Science ever gave to thee,
To mark thee for her own.

A name a mother's lips have taught
To call the way-side flower;
A name with thoughts and feelings fraught
Of childhood's happy hour.

Still may it wake sweet child, as now,
That smile, when years have fled;
And left their wrinkles on thy brow,
Their silver on thy head.

Still may that name in memory dwell,
Loved guardian of thy heart;
And be through life a holy spell,
Recalling what thou art.