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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.
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Ah, few cannot have read Wordsworth's beautiful lines. I can, in anagram, tell a
genuine story behind his musings. He wasn't alone (I checked up), but with a woman,
his sister Dorothy; who, we hear, jotted stuff in a diary at the time.
It had been a misty day with little sun, when they set out on their walk after lunch.
The couple left a lane to avoid cows, seeing tiny violets, hidden below a hedge.
Then... they both stopped. Oh, those enchanting fabled flowers! A sight that dazzled
them, indeed!
Ah, but all can change. Recently, odd, big ones were sighted: *cultivated* blooms.
(One needs an investigation to check this report's authenticity.) Oh God, what a
shocking scandal! An idyll, thoughtlessly vandalized by human hooligan hands!
Our England's perfect, an ideal, green and pleasant land. Oh, with duff daffs.
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