I wandered lonely as a cloud
that floats on high o'er vales and hills
when all atonce 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 in a 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 sparkiling waves in glee.
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company.
I gazed- and gazed- but little though
what wealth the show to be had brought:
Far off, when on my couch I lie,
In vacant or in pensive mood
then flash upon that inward eye
which is the bliss of solitude
And then my Heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky
So was it my life began;
So was it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old
or let me die!
The child is the father of the man,
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by Natural piety.
Flattered with promise of escape
From every hurtful blast,
Spring takes, O sprightly May! thy shape,
Her loveliest and her last.
Less fair is summer riding high
In fierce solstitial power,
Less fair than when a lenient sky
Brings on her parting hour.
When earth repays with golden sheaves
The labors of the plough,
And ripening fruits and forest leaves
All brighten on the bough;
What pensive beauty autumn shows,
Before she hears the sound
Of winter rushing in, to close
The emblematic round!
Such be our Spring, our Summer such;
So may our Autumn blend
With hoary Winter, and Life touch,
Through heaven-born hope, her end!
It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea:
Listen! The mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder--everlastingly.
Dear Child! Dear Girl! That walkest with me here,
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.