(With apologies to Wordsworth!)
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
And all at once I chanced to see
A group of scrawny daffodils!
Some Anglo-Saxon fantasies
Fluttering and bending in the breeze.
Scattered ungainly, trying hard
To look as Springlike as they could
Doing a 'Wordsworth' in a yard,
Instead of a verdant English wood.
Nurtured all winter for this time
When they could ape a cooler clime.
The growers do not understand
That daffodils don't grow in ones
They mass, they throng, on every hand,
Warmed by some very watery suns.
I gazed and gazed and tried to see
These flowers where they ought to be.
There flashed upon my inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude
Another land, a paler sky,
A softer and a gentler mood.
I pictured them on English hills.
Then my heart danced with the daffodils.
More English nostalgia here: