All
that was needful for him was to strike down into the deep of his
heart. Or, using his own words, we may compare his tranquil
existence to
A crystal river,
Diaphanous because it travels slowly,
and in which poetic thoughts rose unimpeded to the surface, like
bubbles through the pellucid stream.
The first hint of many of his briefer poems is to be found in his
sister's diary:
"April 15. 1802. When we were in the woods below Gowbarrow
Park we saw a few _daffodils_ close to the water side.
As we went along there were more, and yet more; and at last,
under the boughs of the trees, we saw there was a long belt of
them along the shore. I never saw daffodils so beautiful. They
grew among the mossy stones about them; some rested their
heads on the stones as on a pillow; the rest tossed, and reeled,
and danced, and seemed as if they verily danced with the wind,
they looked so gay and glancing."
"July 30, 1802. Left London between five and six o'clock
of the morning, outside the Dover coach. A beautiful morning.
The city, St. Paul's, with the river, a multitude of little boats,
made a beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster Bridge;
the houses not overhung by their clouds of smoke, were spread
out endlessly; yet the sun shone so brightly, with such a
pure light, that there was something like the purity of one
of Nature's own grand spectacles.
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