By William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a could
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 satrs 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 their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be 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.
I've always liked this poem because it is from a time of no photographs. Wordsworth could only rely on his mind, and then his words, to remember that hill of daffodils. Do you have a memory for which you have no photograph? no memento? no token? no thing? I have plenty of these because I am not a collector of things. One day I'll write about a lady who attaches memories only to things. She cannot let these things go. I find that tragic: that the memory is gone if the thing is gone.