Little golden trumpets

Daffodils seem to me like little golden trumpets, heralding the dawn of spring.  

Time to revisit William Wordsworth's beautiful poem, which I think perfectly sums up the daffodil magic...

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 on 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

Out-did 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, 

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude; 

And then my heart with pleasure fills, 

And dances with the daffodils.