POETRY.
DAFFODILS.
LONDON in spring-time is blowing like a garden,
Through the windy streets and squares an airy fragrance thrills; But the flowers of all others that gladden the city Are the March wind's daughters, the slender daffodils.
Daffodils in bloom in pots, and daffodils in bunches ; Daffodils from England and from across the seas ; Pale Lent-lilies from Cornwall and the Scillies ; Daffodils from Holland and from the Pyrenees.
Some come from gardens and stand as proud as princes, And many will tell you that those are the best ; But the dearest to me are the shy ones, the wild ones, The daffodils with short stalks, that grow in the West.
All through the West they are spread now like sunshine ; Broad sheets of meadow bow golden to the breeze. Silver-stalked, in airy groups, they stand beside the rivers—.
All unshadowed underneath the budding ordhard trees. Daffodils in London you pay for with money ; Daffodils in London lose fragrance in the street ; But down in the West they smell sweeter than honey, And in the West the daffodils are springing at your feet.
C. M. SANDERS.
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