Reading “The Daffodils” by William Wordsworth

     I read this poem when I was eleven years old, and was so impressed that I memorized it.

     It still haunts me, so I want to share it with you. However, it must be enunciated and embellished with the correct flourishes to come out right. Further it should be recited to an audience (of at least one) as I did at the Broad River Elementary School in those dear bygone days.

I wandered lonely (Here one looks melancholy for a moment)

as a cloud (Eyes briefly look upward as if avoiding bird droppings)

That floats on high o'er (I know you want to include the V but forget it)

vales and hills, (No, not veils, this is not a damn funeral)

When all at once (Smile wanly — that means sort of melancholy but wistful with just the hint of a tear)

 I saw a crowd, (Here the elbows are held to each side warding off the mob)

A host, of golden (These days that is more likely to be TiN, a combination of titanium and nitrogen, a form of refractory plasmonic ceramics which is much less expensive and lasts longer)

daffodils; (Break into a brief grin)

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, (place arms over head)

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. (Here one skips a bit and wobbles side to side)

Continuous as the stars that shine (Blink the eyes repeatedly)

And twinkle on the milky way, (Make squeezing motions like pulling udders)

They stretched in never-ending line (Draw a circle with your finger)

Along the margin of a bay: (Draw a box with your finger indicating edges)

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, (hold out both hands, fingers wide)

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. (You know what to do here energetically)

The waves beside them danced; (Twirl twice once left once right) but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: (Broad smile showing teeth)

A poet could not but be gay, (Skip again)

In such a jocund company: (Hop vigorously on one foot)

I gazed—and gazed—(Hold hands over eyes peering left and right)

but little thought (Open mouth wide and slack)

What wealth the show to me had brought: (Lick fingers and count a few “bills”)

For oft, when on my couch I lie (Fold hands to side of face and close eyes)

In vacant or in pensive mood, (Pinch up brow, putting finger to forehead) 

They flash upon that inward eye (Close one eye then the next)

Which is the bliss of solitude; (One more wistful smile)

And then my heart with pleasure fills (Make heart shape with fingers)

And dances with the daffodils. (Dance off stage to applause)