One daffodil does not a spring make
One daffodil doesn't make a spring in our wintry hearts.
It needs a leucojum, too.
And maybe a butterfly or two.
But for the poet, William Wordsworth, all it took was a crowd of daffodils to rouse him from his lonely state and make him rejoice in being alive. And that is the very essence of spring.
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.
It's already been spring for several weeks where I am, but if the season hasn't reached you yet, be assured that it is on its way and when it does, I hope you'll find that your heart "dances with the daffodils."