O fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!
The red Sahara in an angry glow, / With amber fogs, across its hollows trailed / Long strings of camels, gloomy-eyed and slow.
How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.
And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.
The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.
Tears are the showers that fertilize this world.