But lately, one rough day, this Flower I pass'd,
And recognized it, though an alter'd Form,

Now standing forth an offering to the Blast,
And buffetted at will by Rain and Storm.

I stopp'd, and said with inly muttered voice, "It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold: This neither is it's courage nor it's choice,

But it's necessity in being old.

The sunshine may not bless it, nor the dew;
It cannot help itself in it's decay;
Stiffin it's members, wither'd, changed of hue."
And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey.

To be a Prodigal's Favorite-then, worse truth,
A Miser's Pensioner-behold our lot!
O Man! that from thy fair and shining youth
Age might but take the things Youth needed not!

7.

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 dancing Daffodills;
Along the Lake, beneath the trees,
Ten thousand dancing in the breeze.

The waves beside them danced, but they

Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:

A Poet could not but be gay

In such a laughing company:

I gaz'd-and gaz'd-but little thought

What wealth the shew 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.

8.

Who fancied what a pretty sight
This Rock would be if edged around
With living Snowdrops? circlet bright!
How glorious to this Orchard ground!
Who loved the little Rock, and set
Upon its Head this Coronet?

Was it the humour of a Child?

Or rather of some love-sick Maid,
Whose brows, the day that she was styled
The Shepherd Queen were thus arrayed?

Of Man mature, or Matron sage?

Or old Man toying with his age?

I ask'd-'twas whisper'd, The device
To each or all might well belong.

It is the Spirit of Paradise

That prompts such work, a Spirit strong, That gives to all the self-same bent

Where life is wise and innocent.