Daffodils

"If thou hast a loaf of bread, sell half and buy the flowers of the narcissus; for bread nourisheth the body, but the flowers of the narcissus the soul."

"Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty."

"When the face of night is fair in the dewy downs And the shining daffodil dies."

"Early nineteenth-century American treats daffodils as a background plant — in their Dutch bulb niche after s and tulips, with little landscape direction. As the century progresssed, the popularity of narcissus increased and warranted more attention. Landscape uses diverged from hyacinths and tulips, not only because of their comparatively muted colors, but also differences in cultivation—sturdier daffodils did not require (nor thrive with) annual lifting and could perennialize, broadening their uses."

"The daffodil is our doorside queen; She pushes upward the sword already, To spot with sunshine the early green."

"What ye have been ye still shall be When we are dust the dust among, O yellow flowers!"

"Fair daffadils, we weep to see You haste away so soone; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained its noone. * * * * * We have short time to stay as you, We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay As you or anything."

"When a daffadill I see, Hanging down his head t'wards me, Guesse I may, what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead: Lastly, safely buryed."

"O fateful flower beside the rill— The Daffodil, the daffodil!"

"It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry, For the sun's a big daffodil up in the sky, And when down the midnight the owl calls "to-whoo"! Why, then the round moon is a daffodil too; Now sheer to the bough-tops the sap starts to climb, So, merry my masters, it's daffodil time."

"O Love-star of the unbeloved March, When cold and shrill, Forth flows beneath a low, dim-lighted arch The wind that beats sharp crag and barren hill, And keeps unfilmed the lately torpid rill!"

"Daffy-down-dilly came up in the cold, Through the brown mould Although the March breeze blew keen on her face, Although the white snow lay in many a place."

"There is a tiny yellow daffodil, The butterfly can see it from afar, Although one summer evening's dew could fill Its little cup twice over, ere the star Had called the lazy shepherd to his fold, And be no prodigal."

"A host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze."