Classic Poem

O now the heavenly daffodils
Their yellow lamps have lit;
And vendors take the golden spoil,
The streets are bright with it:
And baskets brimmed as they can hold
Are precious with the April gold.

Here's daffodils! I hear them cry
Along the noisy way;
There's winter in the air and sky,
The city streets are grey;
But like a hope and prophecy,
The yellow flowers flame for me.

Here's daffodils! O somewhere now
The earliest dreams awake;
Dim stirrings vex the sleeping bough
For unborn April's sake;
And gardens patient in the snow
The thrill of tender promise know.

And weary folk that waited long
Look up and hope again.
In the dumb spaces like a song
The old cry echoes plain;
New wine the empty chalice fills,
And for a sign — here's daffodils!