DAFFODILS 



Some come from gardens and stand proud as princes, 

 And many will tell you that those are the best ; 

 But the dearest to me are the shy ones, the wild ones, 

 The daffodils with short stalks that grow in the West. 



APK1L Is life worth living ? Is life good, has it any sense 



of completeness or satisfaction ? There is but one 

 answer on an early April morning, when the cold wind 

 has gone and the sun has suddenly grown warm ; 

 winter is vanquished and the whole atmosphere is 

 charged with spring ; we feel it, see it, smell it. We 

 hear it in the first broken notes of the piping black- 

 bird fragments of melody ; he pauses, hesitates as if 

 not sure of himself, half shy, as if he had just realised 

 that in a songless winter he had forgotten his art, 

 then, out throb the full tones, liquid in their mellow- 

 ness and free from all trace of metallic twang or 

 scratch, of which the song thrush and other songsmiths 

 are sometimes guilty. Again he pauses and the still 

 air is broken by the cheerful, sprightly notes of the 

 chiff-chaff. He is our earliest and so most welcome 

 of summer visitors, at any rate to our inland woods 

 in the west. Yes down in the west in April, that 



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