“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” ― Oscar Wilde
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Happy Birthday Mom!
I remember when my mom taught me what a forsythia was and for a long time I thought they were "forcynthias." I wondered who Cynthia was and why they didn't call them "foremilys."
Today is my Mommy's birthday! :) To celebrate such an event, I'm posting a Wordsworth poem that I think she'll apreciate. It's one of my favorites, because on occasion, I fancy myself like Wordworth--wandering around a beautiful countryside composing beautiful words and appreciating this enchanting earth. I am my mother's daughter. I love you mom!
"Daffodils" (1804)
I WANDER'D 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 stretch'd 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.
By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).
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1 comment:
What a wonderful daughter!! You must have a wonderful mother!
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