Daffodils

I know this poem is a cliche, but after the cold winter we have had, to see the first bulbs of spring fighting out of the soil is a joy of a quite primitive, visceral sort - and while Wordsworth brings a philosophical viewpoint, the joy is unconfined.  Perhaps a dream of April, rather than lion blustery March, but the promise is there! This is William Wordsworth's The Daffodils.

 

I wander’d lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Comments

[Cornflower]

The first of our daffodils are out here in the garden, but their gold will be shrouded in white if the weather forecast is correct as heavy snow is due!

[Dark Puss]

I didn't see any wild ones in flower in the canton of Geneva this week, but the primroses were magnificent, turning the ground yellow in large swathes, even at CERN. Lots of lovely wood violets providing a pinky-purple contrast. With temperatures of 20C on Wednesday lunchtime and the Black Kites circling overhead I felt that spring was indeed sprung. Of course this morning we awoke to heavy rain and 6C! Just returned home to London and a mixture of rain and sunshine.