56 The Poetry of Flowers. 
On the mute path of ages fled, 
Still meets decay and thee. 
And still let man his fabrics rear, 
August in beauty, stern in power,— 
Days pass—thou Ivy never sere ! 
And thou shalt have thy dower. 
All are thine, or must be thine !— 
Temple, pillar, shrine 1 
DAFFODILS. 
BY WORDSWORTH. 
I wandered lonely as a cloud 
That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
When all at once I saw a crowd, 
A host of golden Daffodils ; 
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 
Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle in the milky way, 
They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay : 
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
The waves beside them danced ; but they 
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : 
A poet could not but be gay, 
In such a jocund company ; 
I gazed and gazed, but little thought 
What wealth the show to me had brought 
For oft when on my couch I lie, 
In vacant or in pensive mood, 
