James W. Foley.

From “Tales of the Trail.”

DE SUNFLOWER AIN’T DE DAISY

“Know yourself,” said the Greeks.  “Be yourself,” bade Marcus Aurelius.  “Give yourself,” taught the Master.  Though the third precept is the noblest, the first and second are admirable also.  The second is violated on all hands.  Yet to be what nature planned us—­to develop our own natural selves—­is better than to copy those who are wittier or wiser or otherwise better endowed than we.  Genuineness should always be preferred to imitation.

  De sunflower ain’t de daisy, and de melon ain’t de rose;
  Why is dey all so crazy to be sumfin else dat grows? 
  Jess stick to de place yo’re planted, and do de bes yo knows;
  Be de sunflower or de daisy, de melon or de rose. 
  Don’t be what yo ain’t, jess yo be what yo is,
  If yo am not what yo are den yo is not what you is,
  If yo’re jess a little tadpole, don’t yo try to be de frog;
  If yo are de tail, don’t yo try to wag de dawg. 
  Pass de plate if yo can’t exhawt and preach;
  If yo’re jess a little pebble, don’t yo try to be de beach;
  When a man is what he isn’t, den he isn’t what he is,
  An’ as sure as I’m talking, he’s a-gwine to get his.

Anonymous.

THE DAFFODILS

The poet in lonely mood came suddenly upon a host of daffodils and was thrilled by their joyous beauty.  But delightful as the immediate scene was, it was by no means the best part of his experience.  For long afterwards, when he least expected it, memory brought back the flowers to the eye of his spirit, filled his solitary moments with thoughts of past happiness, and took him once more (so to speak) into the free open air and the sunshine.  Just so for us the memory of happy sights we have seen comes back again to bring us pleasure.

  I wander’d lonely as a cloud
  That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
  When all at once I saw a crowd,
  A host of golden daffodils,
  Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
  Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

  Continuous as the stars that shine
  And twinkle on the milky way,
  They stretch’d in never-ending line
  Along the margin of a bay: 
  Ten thousand saw I at a glance
  Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

  The waves beside them danced, but they
  Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:—­
  A Poet could not but be gay
  In such a jocund company! 
  I gazed—­and gazed—­but little thought
  What wealth the show to me had brought;

  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.

William Wordsworth.