DAFFODILS
Reading edition
Oh, wild is the daffodils’ dance To the tune that the March pipes blow, Heads a-tossing—lances crossing, Curtsies sweeping and low. Like waves in a flaming sunset They tumble, and twist, and turn, What tho’ from its slender pillar Droppeth one golden urn? Short-lived is their joy and reckless, Never a pause for breath. Ah, well!—are we too not whirling As blind, in our “dance of death”?