” Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; Maud And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky.”
-Tennyson
Maud, pt.1, sect.22, stanza1, l.850^9.
Still growing daffodils from bulbs. Such a cheery sight against the snowy windows.
Beautious, Jan! And the daffodils are growing prematurely down here. Perfect poem for the image and the day.
Come into the garden buried under snow and dream the daffodil into bloom.
Lovely—