The Daffodils

A few days ago, I was over at nightskyspy and we were discussing a few things. Later that evening while milking, the poem The Daffodils by William Wordsworth popped into my head while I was mulling over our exchanges. For me, remembering that poem was like a regression into secondary school English classes where poems were routinely bashed into our brains (without any luck I may add. I don’t have a photographic brain … I need to understand my subject matter before it will begin to sink in).

To me daffodils in spring are hope for the the year ahead: hope that things will get better, hope in the beauty of something young that can grow and become something more wonderful.

The poem makes me remember that when we are all alone with the weight of the world on our shoulders, that there are millions of beautiful things all around us that ask nothing of us … for free.

  The DaffodilsI 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.

snb10494-600.jpg

The flowers on these daffodils behind our house have withered at this stage, but the plant itself remains strong in an effort to seed for the future. (That is unless someone here decides that younger plants need the light and space, and cut them at ground level!!!)

ps. don’t ever ask me to quote anything, i’ve a head like a sieve. But sometimes inspiration comes when I least expect it.

Advertisements

5 comments so far

  1. laurie on

    here you go, Mr. Rough. wordsworth’s poem, done as rap:

    http://www.golakes.co.uk/wordsworthrap/

  2. admin on

    … Mr Rough …….. oh I just don’t know anymore!!!! 🙂

  3. laurie on

    well, you know, Mr. Hands just didn’t seem quite right.

  4. […] Comments laurie on The Daffodilsadmin on The Daffodilslaurie on The Daffodilsadmin on Wet the TeaLovegod on Wet the […]

  5. admin on

    hmmmm …. Mr Hands would be worse.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: