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
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.
This poem by William Wordsworth is a warm hug I slip into at two on a sleepless night. A proof how the art lives on beyond the years of the artist, for in an instant it takes the reader on a journey.
I wandered, light and lost, like a cloud adrift—perhaps because I’d chosen the path no one else dared to tread. The path wound through hills and quiet vales, and I floated along, trusting the universe to guide my steps. In these moments when being alone felt lonely, something whispered to me. I froze, breath caught, eyes wide. Was this heaven?
A thousand daffodils danced before me, weaving a golden shawl across the skin of the earth. They glimmered upon the surface of the tranquil basin, casting golden reflections that dappled the shade beneath the trees. As they fluttered and danced with the breeze, I followed. As though it were a choreography etched into our souls long ago. Not taught, just something that had faded into the mist of time. The earth was our stage, the breeze our partner, and we the dancers. I wasn’t dancing with the daffodils. I was a daffodil.
It reminded me of the stars. Twinkling stars that ruled the dark skies. That suspended far beyond the Milky Way, and yet somehow, shimmering within me. That covered a vast expanse of never-ending nothingness. Ten thousand flowers of gold lined the margins of the bay, tossing and turning their heads in a sprightly dance.
Like a festival of dance, the waves competed against the flowers. And though they put up a fine fight, guess who the sun crowed a winner? The golden blossom smiled in glee as it danced and danced, never once stopping.
The chaotic poet in me danced along, having found my words. Smiling quietly to myself, I sprinted along the fields; in a floral golden gown that spluttered with laughter. I gazed and gazed and little thought, what wealth the show to me had brought. Never was I so present in the hours, like this bunch of golden flowers. How could anyone be but happy in this beautiful scene where life itself shows up onstage to guide you through the play?
In the moments when my mind is chasing wild ideas; when I lay pensive on my couch; when I’m playing hide and seek with purpose, the vision of these fields of gold flash in my inward eye(peekaboo!). As though a toddler, I can’t help but smile. With wonder and awe, I think about the jewels hidden not deep inside the earth but on the planet itself. Life is a kind lady, generous in its gifts. She presented us with miracles a million times over and in return only asked to be trusted. Trust not the field of blossom but every falling petal that reveals a new chapter.
And one day when the wind died down, the gown limp and lifeless, the flowers stood tall. Not tossing their heads but standing tall against the silent air. And when I got carried away by the silent noise, they whispered to me.
“Dance.”
And though I’d seen a fifty winters my face lit up in glee, like a five-year-old kid. The daffodils whisked me away to a land unknown where laughter filled me like a helium balloon. And I kept rising up and up, and never stopped as I secretly thanked Wordsworth.
“Thank you, for putting forth this charming piece of art- Wordsworth.”
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