|Hoyt & Roberts, comps. Hoyts New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations. 1922.|
|Daffodil (Narcissus Pseudo-Narcissus)|
| The daffodil is our doorside queen;|
She pushes upward the sword already,
To spot with sunshine the early green.
BryantAn Invitation to the Country.
|What ye have been ye still shall be|
When we are dust the dust among,
O yellow flowers!
Austin DobsonTo Daffodils.
|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 twards me,
Guesse I may, what I must be:
First, I shall decline my head;
Secondly, I shall be dead:
Lastly, safely buryed.
HerrickHesperides. Divination by a Daffadill.
|O fateful flower beside the rill|
The Daffodil, the daffodil!
Jean IngelowPersephone. St. 16.
|It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry,|
For the suns 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, its daffodil time.
Clinton ScollardDaffodil Time.
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty.
Winters Tale. Act IV. Sc. 3. L. 118.
|When the face of night is fair in the dewy downs|
And the shining daffodil dies.
TennysonMaud. Pt. III. St. 1.
|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!
Aubrey De VereOde to the Daffodil.
|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 evenings dew could fill
Its little cup twice over, ere the star
Had called the lazy shepherd to his fold,
And be no prodigal.
Oscar WildeThe Burden of Stys.
|A host of golden daffodils;|
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
WordsworthI Wandered Lonely as a Cloud.