Fathered by March, the daffodils are here. <br />First, all the air grew keen with yesterday, <br />And once a thrush from out some hollow gray <br />On a field’s edge, where whitening stalks made cheer, <br />Fluted the last unto the budding year; <br />Now that the wind lets loose from orchard spray <br />Plum bloom and peach bloom down the dripping way, <br />Their punctual gold through the wet blades they rear. <br />Oh, fleet and sweet! A light to all that pass <br />Below, in the cramped yard, close to the street, <br />Long-stemmed ones flame behind the palings bare, <br />The whole of April in a tuft of grass. <br />Scarce here, soon will it be—oh, sweet and fleet!— <br />Gone like a snatch of song upon the stair.<br /><br />Lizette Woodworth Reese<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/daffodils-21/
