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— Geoffrey Chaucer"That of all the floures in the mede, Thanne love I most these floures white and rede, Suche as men callen daysyes in her toune."
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Those fields of daisies we landed on, and dusty fields and desert stretches. Memories of many skies and earths beneath us - many days, many nights of stars.
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Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true, Primrose, first born child of Ver, Merry Spring-time's harbinger.
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