Daffodils Along a Side Street

I turn down the neglected street, cracked and uneven, where the tree roots have forced their way through the pavement, and dead leaves lay scattered. My face flushes at the unexpected sight of the irises, stunningly vibrant, demanding notice as they stand near the base of a small tree. The deep purple flowers grab my attention, but then my eyes are drawn to the daffodils, pale yellow, clustered on the patch of moss-laden ground, and I share in the poet's delight. Near them the lilies-of-the-valley grow, arrayed in unpretentious gowns of gossamer white, and tremble, delicately, at the faint breeze that grazes each emerald blade. The violets huddle together, their variegated petals nestled softly in velvet leaves, and murmur softly. I smile at the sound of their whispered secrets, and continue down the deserted street.

I wander'd 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 stretch'd 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. -- William Wordsworth, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud