Daffodils and the Bliss of Solitude
The other day I came across Wordsworth’s poem, ‘The Daffodils.’ I was plummeted back in time to the young girl I used to be. My father had decided that my sister and I had to go to school in England. At the suggestion of a friend of his, he chose St. James College in Malvern, Worcester. The school must have been a grand country estate nestled close to a church. The grounds were magnificent but the building seemed utilitarian, grey and bleak, especially in the late autumn when we arrived. The grounds meandered along the winding paths. One could get lost in some secluded magical area. On weekend afternoons, in spring, I loved to do just that. I would take a book and a blanket and find a place to spread the blanket and read my book. One day I discovered a field of daffodils. Their heady perfume made me feel weak with sheer pleasure and delight! I recalled other springtimes in Tehran where daffodils are one of the symbols of Nowruz, the beginning and rebirth of spring. They were the emergence from the cold of winter into the warmth of the coming months. It was the birth of young living things like tiny birds and baby cattle. Best of all, upon being surrounded by the daffodils, I felt I had emerged into Wordsworth’s poem. The sheer utter joy I felt, as the blood coursed through my veins, awakening primal feelings within my young self. It felt so thrilling to be alive! My innocent soul wanted to soar up into the sky and witness the growth of the flowers, the vibrant colours of the trees and bushes from above, the awakening of the earth. I wanted to feel the breeze as I spread my arms wide to embrace this wonderful feeling. I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face into the daffodils. With my eyes closed I deeply breathed into their heady fragrance. Ah that sense of well-being! That joy of being young and alive, the certainty of feeling that you will experience this sensation forever and ever, oh how heady that was! Now I am older and more weary. I feel pain each morning as I get up. My bones creak. Everything is an effort; but when spring arrives and the daffodils raise their heads to greet the season, then I remember the heady invincible feeling of my youth and smile to myself. God’s creations are miraculous! The promise that spring is eternal.
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 the 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 hath 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.