How to define the word
yellow?
Tart lemon that stings
your mouth; shining sun
that blinds your eyes;
deep blanket of daffodils
that caresses your face.
Yes, the yellow of petal
that defies early April
and its cruelty. Wild
and tamed flower, its
color reminds us
of the first light
of spring, the memory
that cannot be forgotten.

There were the black pine trees, 
        And the sullen hills 
        Frowning; there were trills 
        Of birds, and the sweet hot sun, 
        And little rills 
        Of water, everyone 
Singing and prattling; there were bees

Honey-laden, tuneful, a song
        Far-off, and a timid air 
        That sighed and kissed my hair, 
        My hair that the hot sun loves. 
        The day was very fair, 
        There was wooing of doves, 
And the shadows were not yet long. 

And I lay on the soft green grass, 
        And the smell of the earth was sweet,
        And I dipped my feet 
        In the little stream;
        And was cool as a flower is cool in the heat, 
        And the day lay still in a dream, 
And the hours forgot to pass. 

And you came, my love, so stealthily 
        That I saw you not 
        Till I felt that your arms were hot 
        Round my neck, and my lips were wet
        With your lips, I had forgot  
        How sweet you were. And lo! the sun has set, 
And the pale moon came up silently. 


                                                    ^{Thuringewald, 1892}

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
    This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
    To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

^{Translated from the Latin by John Dryden}

Thus every Creature, and of every Kind,
The secret Joys of sweet Coition find:
Not only Man’s Imperial Race; but they
That wing the liquid Air, or swim the Sea,
Or haunt the Desert, rush into the flame:
For Love is Lord of all; and is in all the same.
’Tis with this rage, the Mother Lion stung,
Scours o’re the Plain; regardless of her young:
Demanding Rites of Love, she sternly stalks;
And hunts her Lover in his lonely Walks.
’Tis then the shapeless Bear his Den forsakes;
In Woods and Fields a wild destruction makes.
Boars whet their Tusks; to battle Tygers move;
Enrag’d with hunger, more enrag’d with love.
Then wo to him, that in the desert Land
Of Lybia travels, o’re the burning Sand.
The Stallion snuffs the well-known Scent afar;
And snorts and trembles for the distant Mare:
Nor bitts nor Bridles, can his rage restrain;
And rugged Rocks are interpos’d in vain.

He makes his way o’re Mountains, and contemns
Unruly Torrents, and unfoorded Streams.
The bristled Boar, who feels the pleasing wound,
New grinds his arming Tusks, and digs the ground.
The sleepy Leacher shuts his little Eyes;
About his churning Chaps the frothy bubbles rise:
He rubs his sides against a Tree; prepares
And hardens both his Shoulders for the Wars.

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.

Continuous 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 their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
   Out-did 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.