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
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee.
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company!
I gazed, and gazed and 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.
GROWING PAIN
(by Vernon Scannel)
The boy was barely five years old,
We sent him to the little school
And left him there
To learn the names of flowers in jam jars on the sill,
And learn to do as he was told.
He seemed quite happy there
Until three weeks afterwards
The darkness whimpered in his room.
I went upstairs, switched on his light
And found him wide awake, distraught,
Sheets mangled and his eiderdown
Untidy carpet on the floor.
I said: “Why can’t you sleep? A pain?”
He snuffled, gave a little moan,
And then he spoke a single word:
“Jessica.” The sound was blurred.
“Jessica? What do you mean?”
“A girl at school called Jessica,
She hurts” – he touched himself between the heart and stomach
“She has been aching here and I can see her.”
Nothing I have read or heard
Instructed me in what to do.
I covered him and stroked his head.
“The pain will go, in time” – I said.