daffodil is our doorside queen;
She pushes upward the sword already,
To spot with sunshine the early
Cullen Bryant, An Invitation to the Country
ye have been ye still shall be
When we are dust the dust among,
O yellow flowers!
Austin Dobson, To Daffodils
Fair daffadils, we weep to see
You haste away so soone;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attained its
. . . .
have short time to stay as you,
have as short a spring;
quick a growth to meet decay
you or anything.
When a daffadill I see,
Hanging down his head t'wards me,
Guesse I may, what I must be:
First, I shall decline
I shall be dead:
Herrick, Hesperides--Divination by a Daffadill
"O fateful flower beside the rill--
The Daffodil, the daffodil!"
Ingelow, Persephone (st. 16)
It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry,
For the sun's a big daffodil up in the sky,
And when down the midnight the owl
Why, then the round
moon is a daffodil too;
to the bough-tops the sap starts to climb,
merry my masters, it's daffodil time.
Scollard, Daffodil Time
Then the face of night is fair in the dewy downs
And the shining daffodil dies.
Alfred Tennyson, Maud (pt. III, st. 1)
O Love-star of the unbeloved March,
When cold and shrill,
Forth flows beneath a low,
The wind that beats
sharp crag and barren hill,
unfilmed the lately torpid rill!
Aubrey de Vere, Ode to the Daffodil
Daffy-down-dilly came up in the cold,
Through the brown mould
Although the March breeze blew
keen on her face,
Although the white
snow lay in many a place.
B. Warner ("Amy Lothrop"), Daffy-Down-Dilly
There is a tiny yellow daffodil,
The butterfly can see it from afar,
Although one summer evening's dew
Its little cup twice
over, ere the star
the lazy shepherd to his fold,
be no prodigal.
Wilde, The Burden of Stys
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the
Wordsworth, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
have loved flowers that fade,
Within those magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made
With sweet unmemoried
Seymour Bridges, Shorter Poets (bk. II, 13)
Brazen helm of daffodillies,
With a glitter toward the light.
Purple violets for the mouth,
Barrett Browning, Hector in the Garden
Which even a babe may understand.
Arthur Cleveland Coxe, The Singing of Birds
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only gift is a portion of thyself."