O Love-star of the unbeloved March,
When cold and shrill,
Forth flows beneath a low, dim-lighted arch
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O Love-star of the unbeloved March,
When cold and shrill,
Forth flows beneath a low, dim-lighted arch
The wind that beats sharp crag and barren hill,
And keeps unfilmed the lately torpid rill!

I would I had some flowers o' th' spring that might
Become your time of day, and yours, and read more

I would I had some flowers o' th' spring that might
Become your time of day, and yours, and yours,
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing. O, Proserpina,
For the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's wagon; daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength--a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and
The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one.

Fair daffadils, we weep to see
You haste away so soone;
As yet the early-rising sun
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Fair daffadils, we weep to see
You haste away so soone;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attained its noone.
. . . .
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.

There is a tiny yellow daffodil,
The butterfly can see it from afar,
Although one summer evening's read more

There is a tiny yellow daffodil,
The butterfly can see it from afar,
Although one summer evening's dew could fill
Its little cup twice over, ere the star
Had called the lazy shepherd to his fold,
And be no prodigal.

Daffy-down-dilly came up in the cold,
Through the brown mould
Although the March breeze blew keen on read more

Daffy-down-dilly came up in the cold,
Through the brown mould
Although the March breeze blew keen on her face,
Although the white snow lay in many a place.

The daffodil is our doorside queen;
She pushes upward the sword already,
To spot with sunshine the read more

The daffodil is our doorside queen;
She pushes upward the sword already,
To spot with sunshine the early green.

A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

What ye have been ye still shall be
When we are dust the dust among,
O yellow read more

What ye have been ye still shall be
When we are dust the dust among,
O yellow flowers!

Then the face of night is fair in the dewy downs
And the shining daffodil dies.

Then the face of night is fair in the dewy downs
And the shining daffodil dies.