Hello, world! This blog began on September 28, 2007, and so far nobody has come looking for me
with tar and feathers.
On my honor, I will do my best not to bore you. All comments are welcome
as long as your discourse is civil and your language is not blue.
Happy reading, and come back often!
And whether my cup is half full or half empty, fill my cup, Lord.
Copyright 2007 - 2024 by Robert H.Brague
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Welcome, sweet Springtime (continued)
(Photograph by David Hopkins, Stanly County, North Carolina)
I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud
by William Wordsworth
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.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
<b>Post-election thoughts</b>
Here are some mangled aphorisms I have stumbled upon over the years: 1. If you can keep your head when all anout you are losing thei...
do you know what i consider more beautiful than a field of daffoldills/?????????? a field of dandy lions>>>isn't that just the craziest thing you have ever heard??????????
ReplyDeleteso pretty!
ReplyDeleteRWP,
ReplyDeleteThank you...one of my favorte poems!
This very famous poem isn't simply about daffodils. It reflects upon Man's relationship with Nature. Wordsworth is promoting the idea that if we are only receptive we can be truly at one with Nature so that it warms our inner selves even when we lie on our lonely couches. Perhaps better than any other poem he wrote, this one really gets at the heart of what it means to be alive, to be part of Nature.
ReplyDeleteOft when with brush I grip
ReplyDeleteIn stressed and uncreative mind,
'Tis Lakeland heather hills that slip
Through my head, and peace I find;
For that honeyscent day and hazy blue,
unfolds my art like my tranquil view.