The Daffodils
Inyielding form of emerald leaves,
And patient pearl; that flings away
A light ethereal, soft and pure,
Embroiders thickly all the dewy moor.
Is’nt this a clue of nature’s thread?
When yonder gleaming sum of gold
Shall light thine eyes, upturn’d and red,
You see it there— behold!
A silver veil encircles thee,
Opulent tuft wi’ blue;
A world of tawny greys
May lie beneath your view.
But tho’ they grow in rapture’s way,
They fall, they fading! Heart in truce
To nature’s needs, that stem’s thy stay —
They owe thee such excuse!
- William Hazlitt