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To a Daffodil
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats 
on high o’er vales and hills,
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.
Mr. Wordsworth’s lines give the spirit of the classic yellow daffodils that bloomed in March at Buckhorn and lasted until just yesterday. I had to unearth them, a sad task, but one that had to be done as a spent daffodil is a woesome sight.
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