MARCH 59 



herself but a common thing for a common 

 eye. 



Charles Lamb called Spenser " the poets' 

 poet," and surely the daffodil is the poets' 

 flower. From the oldest days it had its 

 votaries among them, the singing syllables of 

 its very name being brought from the asphodel 

 which grows in many a goddess -haunted 

 meadow, and which was, men think, this very 

 flower. We know it to have been called 

 asphodel of old French and English bards, 

 and how dearly they have loved it we may 

 know if we care to read. Chaucer cared for 

 the flowers, Spenser saw them blooming in 

 fairyland, and Shakespeare made himself their 

 poet laureate for ever when he spoke of the 



" Daffodils 



That come before the swallow dares, and takes 

 The winds of March with beauty." 



Milton wove them into that strange garland 

 which only a town - bred fancy could have 

 fashioned. 



" To deck the laureate hearse where Lycid lies." 



Herrick followed with delicate, pensive 

 verses, so true, so dear, that he who has 



