They stretched in never-ending line
                    Along the margin of a
                                   
            bay:
                                Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
                            Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
                        The waves beside them danced, but they
                    Out-did the sparkling
                                       
waves                                        
                                    in glee:
                                A poet could not be but gay,
                            In such a jocund company:
                        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.
< home >