POETRY OF FLOWERS. 73 
“ What ailed the meadow that it shook ? 
What ailed the air of Sicily? 
She wondered by the brattling brook, 
And trembled with the trembling lea. 
‘The coal-black horses rise—-they rise: 
0 mother, mother!’ low she cries. 
***#«*« 
“ ‘ 0 light, light!’ she cries, ‘ farewell; 
The coal-black horses wait for me. 
0 shade of shades, where I must dwell, 
Demeter, mother, far from thee ! 
Oh, fated doom that I fulfil ! 
Oh, fateful flower beside the rill! 
The daffodil, the daffodil!’ ’’ 
Chaucer, the fountain-head of English poetry, 
alludes to this story in his quaint old language, 
and Shakspeare, who had a loving word for all 
things lovely, introduces it into his “Winter’s 
Tale,” in this exquisite manner: 
“ 0 Proserpina, 
For the flowers now that, frighted, thou lett’st fall 
From Dis’s wagon : daffodils 
That come before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty.” 
