Be we sad, or be we gay;
With thick curls bright, or thin locks grey;
We never find the Spring bloom meet
Our presence with a smile less sweet.
Oh! I am glad I learnt to love
The tangled wood and cooing dove;
For these will be, in good or ill,
My old companions, changeless still.
Bright and cheerful daffodils that are growing in my garden. I love to see their yellow petals smiling away!