grieving with guinever

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.

I memorized this poem by William Wordsworth in eighth grade English class. This first stanza still runs through my head every once in awhile, especially now with the approaching spring, but I have no idea how the poem continues.

I’ve always loved the daffodils by our front porch. They peek out of the frozen ground long before anything else tries to come up. I usually don’t realize they’re blooming until one of my kids brings me a few. Caleb, 6, has been picking daffodils this week.

Abby brought me a daffodil the day before she died. I’ll never forget it. I’ll always associate daffodils with her last week with us, and her first week gone from us. There is a statue at the cemetery near where Abby is buried that is surrounded with daffodils. They were blooming for her funeral. A couple weeks later when I went to take pictures, they were wilted.

Daffodils come and go so quickly. Bright and beautiful, then they’re gone. Just like Abby–bright and beautiful, the she was gone.

I looked up the rest of I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud:

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
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 but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
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.

My heart dances with the daffodils. That’s perfect. Thank you Mr. Wordsworth.