Daffodils
I QUESTION with the amber daffodils,
Sheeting the floors of April, how she fares;
Where king-cup buds gleam out between the rills,
And celandine in wide gold beadlets glares.
By pastured brows and swelling hedgerow bowers,
From crumpled leaves the primrose bunches slip,
My hot face roll’d in their faint-scented flowers,
I dream her rich cheek rests against my lip.
All weird sensations of the fervent prime
Are like great harmonies, whose touch can move
The glow of gracious impulse: thought and time
Renew my love with life, my life with love.
When this old world new-born puts glories on,
I cannot think she never will be won.
John Leicester Warren.