As a child, 'Daffodils' held a special place within the pages of my school poetry textbook - Panorama: A Selection of Poems. That book introduced me to poetry, and that poem introduced me to William Wordsworth, whose poems transported me into a world of nature’s beauty created by God.
People who know me wouldn’t be surprised by my love for a poem dedicated to a flower, but it’s not just the flower; it's the way Wordsworth transported me into the English countryside through his poetry. I found myself in Wordsworth’s world each time I read the poem. I would walk with him over the vales and hills, waiting to chance upon ‘a host of golden daffodils’.
I love the way he creates the imagery through his words, and since the time I read the poem for the first time, I had this secret desire to visit England only to see daffodils blooming the way Wordsworth described it in his poem.
Fifteen years elapsed before I finally set foot in England. It was springtime, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the airport and check out the flowers. Oh! I wasn’t disappointed at all. London in spring was awash with springtime splendour, a paradise for flower enthusiasts like me. This was long before tulips and exotic flowers were a common sight in Delhi. I had no interest in seeing Big Ben or the London Bridge. “Take me to Hyde Park,” I told my hosts, and so they did. I still remember the park in full bloom. There were lavenders, irises, purple crocuses, pansies, etc., but my eyes searched for the flowers whose memory was enough to transform Wordsworth’s pensive mood.
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.
This was long before Google, so the only image I had in mind about the flowers was the image Wordsworth had created for me. I walked in the park, enjoying the cool breeze against my skin, my heart beating fast as if in anticipation of meeting someone I’ve waited for 15 years, a pen pal I’ve only corresponded with but never seen. And lo, behold, I see a yellow patch of golden daffodils. As I beheld them, I didn't just see what Wordsworth saw; I felt what he felt in the spring of 1802.
Reflecting on this experience, I'm reminded of the words in Psalm 65: "You care for the land and water it; you enrich it abundantly…The grasslands of the wilderness overflow; the hills are clothed with gladness." Indeed, the joy that filled Wordsworth's heart resonated within me as I stood amidst those blossoms.
Photo by Yoksel 🌿 Zok on Unsplash
