In Dorothy Wordsworth’s Journal the following occurs, under date April 30, 1802: 

“We came into the orchard directly after breakfast, and sat there.  The lake was calm, the sky cloudy.  William began to write the poem of ’The Celandine’....  I walked backwards and forwards with William.  He repeated his poem to me, then he got to work again, and would not give over.”

Ed.

  Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies,
  Let them live upon their praises;
  Long as there’s a sun that sets,
  Primroses will have their glory;
  Long as there are violets, 5
  They will have a place in story: 
  There’s a flower that shall be mine,
  ’Tis the little Celandine.

  Eyes of some men travel far
  For the finding of a star; 10
  Up and down the heavens they go,
  Men that keep a mighty rout! 
  I’m as great as they, I trow,
  Since the day I found thee out,
  Little Flower!—­I’ll make a stir, 15
  Like a sage [1] astronomer.

  Modest, yet withal an Elf
  Bold, and lavish of thyself;
  Since we needs must first have met
  I have seen thee, high and low, 20
  Thirty years or more, and yet
  ’Twas a face I did not know;
  Thou hast now, go where I may,
  Fifty greetings in a day.

  Ere a leaf is on a bush, 25
  In the time before the thrush
  Has a thought about her [2] nest,
  Thou wilt come with half a call,
  Spreading out thy glossy breast
  Like a careless Prodigal; 30
  Telling tales about the sun,
  When we’ve little warmth, or none.

  Poets, vain men in their mood! 
  Travel with the multitude: 
  Never heed them; I aver 35
  That they all are wanton wooers;
  But the thrifty cottager,
  Who stirs little out of doors,
  Joys to spy thee near her home;
  Spring is coming, Thou art come! 40

  [B]

  Comfort have thou of thy merit,
  Kindly, unassuming Spirit! 
  Careless of thy neighbourhood,
  Thou dost show thy pleasant face
  On the moor, and in the wood, 45
  In the lane;—­there’s not a place,
  Howsoever mean it be,
  But ’tis good enough for thee.

  Ill befal the yellow flowers,
  Children of the flaring hours! 50
  Buttercups, that will be seen,
  Whether we will see or no;
  Others, too, of lofty mien;
  They have done as worldlings do,
  Taken praise that should be thine, 55
  Little, humble Celandine!

  Prophet of delight and mirth,
  Ill-requited [3] upon earth;
  Herald of a mighty band,
  Of a joyous train ensuing, 60
  Serving at my heart’s command,
  Tasks that are no tasks renewing, [4]
  I will sing, as doth behove,
  Hymns in praise of what I love!