ful corruption of "Daffodil," but Dr. Prior
argues (and he is a very safe authority) that it is rather a corruption
of "Saffron Lily." Daffadowndilly is not used by Shakespeare, but it is
used by his contemporaries, as by Spenser frequently, and by H.
Constable, who died in 1604--

"Diaphenia, like the Daffadowndilly,
White as the sun, fair as the Lilly,
Heigh, ho! how I do love thee!"

But however it derived its pretty names, it was the favourite flower of
our ancestors as a garden flower, and especially as the flower for
making garlands, a custom very much more common then than it is now. It
was the favourite of all English poets. Gower describes the Narcissus--

"For in the winter fresh and faire
The flowres ben, which is contraire
To kind, and so was the folie
Which fell of his surquedrie"--_i.e._, of Narcissus.

_Confes. Aman._ lib. prim. (1. 121 Paulli).

Shakespeare must have had a special affection for it, for in all his
descriptions there is none prettier or more suggestive than Perdita's
short but charming description of the Daffodil (No. 2). A small volume
might be filled with the many poetical descriptions of this "delectable
and sweet-smelling flower," but there are some which are almost
classical, and which can never be omitted, and which will bear
repetition, however well we know them. Milton says, "The Daffodillies
fill their cups with tears."[74:1] There are Herrick's well-known
lines--

"Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon,
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attained his noon;
Stay, stay,
Until the hastening day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay as you,
We have as short a spring,
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you or anything.
We die,
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain,
Or as the pearls of morning dew,
Ne'er to be found again."

And there are Keats' and Shelley's well-known and beautiful lines which
bring down the praises of the Daffodil to our own day. Keats says--

"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever,
Its loveliness increases, it will never
Pass into nothingness. . . . . .
. . . . .