Yesterday and today were perfect days to herald in a gentle Spring, and I was able to photograph several early flowers, including magnolia, snow drops, and, of course, daffodils. The magnolia and snow drops will wait till tomorrow; for today, in what is becoming a Burningbird Spring tradition, the first of the daffodils and the perfect poem to go with them, Henry Wordsworth’s “Daffodils”.
I wandered 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 stretched 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.
Dedicated to promise of future Springs.
