The Shepherd's Daffodil

Gorbo, as thou cam'st this way
By yonder little hill.
Or as thou through the fields didst stray,
Saw'st thou my daffodil ?

She's in a frock of Lincoln-green,
The colour maids delight ;
And never hath her beauty seen
But through a veil of white.

Than roses richer to behold
That dress up lovers bowers ;
The pansy and the marigold
Are Phoebus' paramours.

Thou well describ'st the daffodil,
It is not full an hour
Since by the spring near yonder hill
I saw that lovely flower.

Yet with my flower thou didst not meet,
Nor news of her dost bring ;
Yet is my daffodil more sweet
Than that by yonder spring.

I saw a shepherd, that doth keep
In yonder field of lilies,
Was making (as he fed his sheep)
A wreath of daffodillies.

Yet, Gorbo, thou delud'st me still.
My flower thou didst not see ;
For know, my pretty daffodil
Is worn of none but me.

To show itself but near her seat
No lily is so bold ;
Except to shade her from the heat.
Or keep her from the cold.

Through yonder vale as I did pass.
Descending from the hill,
I met a smirking bonny lass ;
They call her Daffodil.

Whose presence as along she went,
The pretty flowers did greet ;
As though their heads they downward bent
With homage to her feet.

And all the shepherds that were nigh,
From top of every hill,
Unto the valleys loud did cry,
" There goes sweet Daffodil ! "

Ay, gentle shepherd, now with joy
Thou all my flock dost fill ;
Come, go with me, thou shepherd's boy,
Let us to Daffodil.