This winter is not letting go easily. Still, I walked around today and it was as if everybody has just opted to believe spring is here. The pavements outside shops held buckets of spring flowers -- the impossible yellow of daffodils, a colour that might be garish if it were not for its unabashed joy, its devil-may-care abundance. And these are lines familiar to all, memorized in my youth, but oldie and goodie applies to Wordsworth.
Happy Spring Equinox!
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
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 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.