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,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

WILLAM WORDSWORTH.

TRAILING ARBUTUS.

DARLINGS of the forest!
Blossoming, alone,

When Earth's grief is sorest
For her jewels gone-

Ere the last snow-drift melts, your tender buds have blown.

Tinged with color faintly,
Like the morning sky,

Or, more pale and saintly,
Wrapped in leaves ye lie-

Even as children sleep in faith's simplicity.

There the wild wood-robin,
Hymns your solitude;

And the rain comes sobbing
Through the budding wood,

While the low south wind sighs, but dare not be more rude.

Were your pure lips fashioned
Out of air and dew-
Starlight unimpassioned,
Dawn's most tender hue,

And scented by the woods that gathered sweets for you?

Fairest and most lonely,
From the world apart;
Made for beauty only,