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!

When a daffadill I see,
Hanging down his head t'wards me,
Guesse I may, what I must read more

When a daffadill I see,
Hanging down his head t'wards me,
Guesse I may, what I must be:
First, I shall decline my head;
Secondly, I shall be dead:
Lastly, safely buryed.

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.

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.

It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry,
For the sun's a big daffodil up in the sky,
read more

It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry,
For the sun's a big daffodil up in the sky,
And when down the midnight the owl call "to-whoo"!
Why, then the round moon is a daffodil too;
Now sheer to the bough-tops the sap starts to climb,
So, merry my masters, it's daffodil time.

Fair daffadils, we weep to see
You haste away so soone;
As yet the early-rising sun
read more

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.

"O fateful flower beside the rill--
The Daffodil, the daffodil!"

"O fateful flower beside the rill--
The Daffodil, the daffodil!"

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.

O Love-star of the unbeloved March,
When cold and shrill,
Forth flows beneath a low, dim-lighted arch
read more

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!