Rydal Vale (2)

Thou wilt be long in reaching home, my love!
If thou dost tarry all the joys to take,
Crowded this evening about Rydal lake, —
The new-born lambs, the flowers, the cooing dove.
Nay, wherefore grasp thy daffodils so fast?

I am not one to rob thee: thou hast wrought
So deeply in my heart that thou hast brought
Sweet gifts of tears unto me from the past.
My sainted Mother! was I once like this,
A creature overflowed with simple bliss,
One whom thou might'st have seen by these bright rills
Long years ago when thou wert in this place,
Stooping to cool his little health-flushed face,
So wondrous happy with his daffodils?