Light of heart and foot with the new wine of the year I sped on
again, stray daffodils lighting the wayside, until I heard the
voice of the stream and reached the field gate which leads to the
lower meadows. There before me lay spring's pageant; green pennons
waving, dainty maids curtseying, and a host of joyous yellow
trumpeters proclaiming 'Victory' to an awakened earth. They range
in serried ranks right down to the river, so that a man must walk
warily to reach the water's edge where they stand gazing down at
themselves in fairest semblance like their most tragic progenitor,
and, rising from the bright grass in their thousands, stretch away
until they melt in a golden cloud at the far end of the misty mead.
Through the field gate and across the road I see them, starring the
steep earth bank that leads to the upper copse, gleaming like pale
flames against the dark tree-boles. There they have but frail
tenure; here, in the meadows, they reign supreme.

At the upper end of the field the river provides yet closer
sanctuary for these children of the spring. Held in its embracing
arms lies an island long and narrow, some thirty feet by twelve, a
veritable untrod Eldorado, glorious in gold from end to end, a
fringe of reeds by the water's edge, and save for that--daffodils.
A great oak stands at the meadow's neck, an oak with gnarled and
wandering roots where a man may rest, for it is bare of daffodils
save for a group of three, and a solitary one apart growing close
to the old tree's side. I sat down by my lonely little sister,
blue sky overhead, green grass at my feet decked, like the pastures
of the Blessed, in glorious sheen; a sea of triumphant, golden
heads tossing blithely back as the wind swept down to play with
them at his pleasure.