Wee, modest, crimson-tippÃ¨d flow’r,
Thou’s met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow’r,
Thou bonie gem.
To a Mountain Daisy, Robert Burns
O woe to small things that Robbie Burns encountered! Whither floure or mousie, he’d come tramp-tramping along, compose some sweet, sad lyrics that tied your fate to that of mankind, and then crush you lifeless. “Iâ€™m truly sorry Manâ€™s dominion / Has broken Natureâ€™s social union” indeed! To wee things, he was no different from the rapacious murderers of a rollicking border ballad . . .
Now see these: