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One daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
Friendship is a shiny thing, a steady beam of light
A lantern on a lonely street, a song far in the night
A smile, a touch of a loving hand, a quiet moment on a hill
And, oh, what a happy little child bringing home a daffodil
Daffodils are yellow trumpets of spring.
Flowers have spoken to me more than I can tell in written words. They are the hieroglyphics of angels, loved by all men for the beauty of their character, though few can decipher even fragments of their meaning.
A daffodil pushing up through the dark earth to the spring, knowing somehow deep in its roots that spring and light and sunshine will come, has more courage and more knowledge of the value of life than any human being I’ve met.
just two yellow daffodils,
the first to bloom
A house with daffodils in it is a house lit up, whether or no the sun be shining outside. Daffodils in a green bowl and let it snow if it will.
She did not look at the daffodils. They didn’t mean anything. She looked at the daffodils. She said, Thank you for the daffodils.
Young playmates of the rose and daffodil. Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill your baskets high with fennel green, and balm, and golden pines. Savory latter mint and columbines.
They wore their hair long like a poet who hopes that romantically flowing locks will make up for a wretched inability to find a rhyme for “daffodil.”
A house with daffodils in it is a house lit up,
whether or no the sun be shining outside.
Never be afraid to be a poppy in a field of daffodils.
I have seen the Lady April bringing the daffodils, bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain.
To this day I cannot see a bright daffodil, a proud gladiola or a smooth eggplant without thinking of Papa. Like his plants and trees, I grew up as a part of his garden.
He that has two cakes of bread,
let him sell one of them for some flowers
of the Narcissus,
for bread is food for the body,
but Narcissus is food of the soul.
I could hear you, talking to the daffodils and tulips, whispering to the fairies that lived inside their petals. Each separate flower had a different family inside it.
She turned to the sunlight and shook her yellow head, and whispered to her neighbor. Winter is dead.
Flowers always make people better, happier, and more helpful, they are sunshine, food and medicine for the soul.
Daffodils in a green bowl
– and let it snow if it will.”
Daffodowndilly has come to town,
in a yellow petticoat and a green gown.
I wonder what spendthrift chose to spill such a bright gold under my window sill! Is it fairy gold? Does it glitter still? Bless me! It is but a daffodil!
I never saw daffodils so beautiful. They grew among the mossy stones about and above them, some rested their heads upon these stones, as on a pillow, for weariness.
O fateful flower beside the rill. The Daffodil, the daffodil!