Daffodils William Wordsworth

(Poem #63) Daffodils I wandered 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 stretched 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

Well, it was only a matter of time before this one showed up <g>. It's
certainly one of the most famous poems around[1] - however, there is a
distressingly common attitude that anything so simple, accessible and
popular can't have much poetic merit.

[1] in fact, it topped a recent British poll of best-loved poems - see the
comment to The Listeners (Poem #2)

Nothing, of course, could be further from the truth - in fact, Wordsworth
himself said it best:

  The majority of the following poems are to be considered as experiments.
  They were written chiefly with a view to ascertain how far the language
  of conversation in the middle and lower classes of society is adapted to
  the purposes of poetic pleasure. Readers accustomed to the gaudiness and
  inane phraseology of many modern writers, if they persist in reading this
  book to its conclusion, will perhaps frequently have to struggle with
  feelings of strangeness and aukwardness: they will look round for poetry,
  and will be induced to enquire by what species of courtesy these attempts
  can be permitted to assume that title. It is desirable that such readers,
  for their own sakes, should not suffer the solitary word Poetry, a word of
  very disputed meaning, to stand in the way of their gratification ...

        -- Preface To Lyrical Ballads (1798)

from- http://wonderingminstrels.blogspot.in/1999/04/daffodils-william-wordsworth.html