The sunshine may not bless it, nor the dew;
It cannot help itself in it's decay;
Stiff in it's members, wither'd, changed of hue.
And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey. 20

To be a Prodigal's Favorite--then, worse truth,
A Miser's Pensioner--behold our lot!
O Man! that from thy fair and shining youth
Age might but take the things Youth needed not!






7.


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 dancing Daffodills;
Along the Lake, beneath the trees,
Ten thousand dancing in the breeze.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:--
A Poet could not but be gay
In such a laughing company: 10