Question

As children bid the guest good-night,
And then reluctant turn,
My flowers raise their pretty lips,
Then put their nightgowns on.



As children caper when they wake,
Merry that it is morn,
My flowers from a hundred cribs
Will peep, and prance again.

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,—
A host of golden daffodils
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.


Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
A