IN Devon, when the year was new, For London made he moan; And all the windy daylight through, Longed for her walls of stone. The call of March was naught to him, For London's rose more shrill; And blowing sweet, and blowing slim, Waxed worn the daffodil. But when the soothing dusk came down, He knew a mood more kind; A vision empty of the town Brake on his restless mind. Betwixt the lanes and rectory door, He seemed to lightly pass; He saw the stalked gold once more Brim all his orchard grass. Oh, still the air of Devon thrills, After two centuries long! For here behold these daffodils Saved by a snatch of song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALIEN WOMEN; SONGKHLA, THAILAND by KAREN SWENSON AT KENNEBUNKPORT by LOUIS UNTERMEYER MY ORCHA'D IN LINDEN LEA by WILLIAM BARNES ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE [OUT OF NORFOLK] by WILLIAM COWPER SNOWBOUND by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SORCERY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |