Pingstliljan fick bråttom

Nu exploderar vårblommorna i rabatterna. Här dansar narcisserna i värmen. De får mig att tänka på en klassisk dikt av William Wordsworth. Och visst kan det vara så att en naturupplevelse kan vara så speciell att man vill dansa när man tänker tillbaka på den (förutsatt att man har Wordsworths goda bildminne).

Daffodils

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.

Continous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing theirs heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they

Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;

A poet could not be but gay,

In such a jocund company!

I gazed - and gazed - but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.