It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry, For the sun's a big daffodil up in the sky, And when down the midnight the owl call "to-whoo"! Why, then the round moon is a daffodil too; Now sheer to the bough-tops the sap starts to climb, So, merry my masters, it's daffodil time.

Clinton Scollard

Clinton Scollard

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In the under-wood and the over-wood There is murmur and trill this day, For every bird is in lyric mood, And the wind will have its way.

— Clinton Scollard

Then the nun-like twilight came, violent vestured and still, And the night's first star outshone afar on the eve of Bunker Hill.

— Clinton Scollard

Her feet along the dewy hills Are lighter than blown thistledown; She bears the glamour of one star Upon her violet crown.

— Clinton Scollard

The lyric sound of laughter Fills all the April hills The joy-song of the crocus, The mirth of daffodils.

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A host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

— William Wordsworth