Daffodils / William Wordsworth

Daffodils 

 I wander'd 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 stretch’d 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.

~~
William Wordsworth (1770-1850), 1804
from The Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1900

(edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch), 1919

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

William Wordsworth biography

"Daffodils (I wander'd lonely as a cloud)" read for Inspired4Nature.

Elegy in April and September / Wilfred Owen

Elegy in April and September

(jabbered among the trees)

  1

Hush, thrush! Hush, missel-thrush, I listen . . .
I heard the flush of footsteps through loose leaves,
And a low whistle by the water's brim.

Still! daffodil! Nay, hail me not so gaily,–
Your gay gold lily daunts me and deceives,
Who follow gleams more golden and more slim.

Look, brook! O run and look, O run!
The vain reeds shook?– Yet search till grey sea heaves,
And I will stray among these fields for him.

Gaze, daisy! Stare through haze and glare,
And mark the hazardous stars all dawns and eves,
For my eye withers, and his star wanes dim.


  2

Close, rose, and droop, heliotrope,
And shudder, hope! The shattering winter blows.
Drop, heliotrope, and close, rose . . .

Mourn, corn, and sigh, rye.
Men garner you, but youth's head lies forlorn.
Sigh, rye, and mourn, corn . . .

Brood, wood, and muse, yews,
The ways gods use we have not understood.
Muse, yews, and brood, wood . . .     

~~
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)

from Collected Poems, 1967

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the European Union]

Wilfred Owen biography

"Elegy in April and September" read by Richard Mitchley. Courtesy Richard Mitchley - Topics.

A Garden of Love / Lilian Leveridge

A Garden of Love

Harrison Weir (1824-1906),

 Flowers for Mother,  ca. 1880.

 Courtesy Wikimedia Commons. 

Mother, if my love for you
Could express itself in flowers,
Were each prayer a shower of dew
In the morn and evening hours,
You would walk in blossomed ways,
Fair and fragrant, all your days.

Blooms that clothed the vales and hills
In the springtides long ago —
Crocuses and daffodils,
Hawthorn, lilies, white as snow,
Primroses and cuckoo flowers
You would find within your bowers.

Pearly daisies, pink and white,
Marigolds and meadow rue,
All would bloom for your delight.
Here would wait to welcome you
Every flower that loved the May
In the homeland far away.

Flowers that on an alien shore
Made your homesick heart grow glad,
Till you loved it more and more,
Found the sweetness in the sad —
Blowing by the northern streams,
Do they greet you still in dreams?

Trilliums that starred the dells,
Mayflowers’ rosy, perfumed bells,
Columbines o’er hill and vale,
Violets yellow, purple, white —
Countless well-springs of delight!

You, who loved all lovely things,
Taught my heart to love them, too
Essences of all the springs
That my happy childhood knew,
Spirit-sweet, invisible,
Linger all about you still

Take this little wreath of verse,
With the blossoms that I send —
Dearest in God’s universe,
Best of sweethearts, truest friend!
Fairest flowers may fade, but never
Love that lives and blooms for ever.

~~
Lilian Leveridge (1879-1953)
from The Blossom Trail, 1932

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada]

Lilian Leveridge biography

Sweet Wild April / William Force Stead

Sweet Wild April

O sweet wild April
     Came over the hills,
He skipped with the winds
     And he tripped with the rills;
His raiment was all
Of the daffodils.
          Sing hi, 
          Sing hey, 
          Sing ho! 

O sweet wild April
     Came down the lea,
Dancing along
     With his sisters three,
Carnation, and Rose,
     And tall Lily.
          Sing hi, 
          Sing hey, 
          Sing ho! 

O sweet wild April
     On pastoral quill
Came piping in moonlight
     By hollow and hill,
In starlight at midnight
     By dingle and rill.
          Sing hi, 
          Sing hey, 
          Sing ho! 

Where sweet wild April
     His melody played,
Trooped Cowslip and Primrose;
     And Iris the maid,
And silver Narcissus,
     A star in the shade.
          Sing hi, 
          Sing hey, 
          Sing ho! 

When sweet wild April
     Dipped down the dale.
Pale Cuckoo-pint brightened
     And Windflower frail,
And Whitethorn, the wood-bride.
     In virginal veil.
          Sing hi, 
          Sing hey, 
          Sing ho! 

When sweet wild April
     Through deep woods pressed.
Sang Cuckoo above him
     And Lark on his crest,
And Philomel fluttered
     Close under his breast.
          Sing hi, 
          Sing hey, 
          Sing ho! 

O sweet wild April,
     Wherever you went.
The bondage of winter
     Was broken and rent;
Sank elfin Ice-City
     And Frost-Goblin's tent.
          Sing hi, 
          Sing hey, 
          Sing ho! 

Yet sweet wild April,
     The blythe, the brave,
Fell asleep in the fields
By a windless wave;
And Jack-in-the-Pulpit
Preached over his grave.
          Sing hi, 
          Sing hey, 
          Sing ho! 

O sweet wild April,
Farewell to thee!
And a deep sweet sleep
To thy Sisters three,—
Carnation, and Rose,
And tall Lily.
          Sing hi, 
          Sing hey, 
          Sing ho! 

~~
William Force Stead (1884-1967)
from Windflowers: A book of lyrics, 1911

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

William Force Stead biography

May Garden / John Drinkwater

       
May Garden

A shower of green gems on my apple tree
This first morning of May
Has fallen out of the night, to be
Herald of holiday --
Bright gems of green that, fallen there,
Seem fixed and glowing on the air.

Until a flutter of blackbird wings
Shakes and makes the boughs alive,
And the gems are now no frozen things,
But apple-green buds to thrive
On sap of my May garden, how well
The green September globes will tell.

Also my pear tree has its buds
But they are silver-yellow,
Like autumn meadows when the floods
Are silver under willow,
And here shall long and shapely pears
Be gathered while the autumn wears.

And there are sixty daffodils
Beneath my wall. . . .
And jealousy it is that kills
This world when all
The spring's behaviour here is spent
To make the world magnificent.

---
John Drinkwater (1882-1937)
from Tides, 1917

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

John Drinkwater biography

"May Garden" read by Bruce Kathuk. Courtesy LibriVox Audiobooks.

(Poem begins at 38:36)

To Daffodils / Robert Herrick

     
To Daffodils 

Fair daffodils, we weep to see
   You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
   Has not attain'd his noon.
                 Stay, stay
      Until the hasting day
                 Has run
      But to the evensong;
And having prayed together, we
      Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
   We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
   As you, or anything.
                 We die
      As your hours do, and dry
                 Away
      Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
      Ne'er to be found again.

~~
Robert Herrick
from Hesperides, 1648

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Robert Herrick biography

"To Daffodils" read by Ben W. Smith. Courtesy Ben Reads Poetry.