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
"The immortality of Flowers must enrich our own, and we certainly should resent a Redemption that excluded them—"
—Emily Dickinson, in a letter to Mrs. Sarah Tuckerman, 1877