. I remember the days when I used to go fishing, and there is
a great joy even now in recalling the twitter of the birds and the hum
of the bees as I lay on the bank and waited for the fish to bite.

And what is the great joy which is his, and which may belong to us, if
we really see the beautiful things in nature? He tells us when he says

"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."

There are days when we cannot get out of doors,--"For oft, when on my
couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood,"--these are the days when we
recall the experiences which we have enjoyed in the days which are
gone,--"they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude."
And then for the poet, as well as for us, "And then my heart with
pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils."

Now let us get the main ideas in the story which the poet tells us of
his adventure. "I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o'er
vales and hills," "I saw a crowd, a host, of golden daffodils," they
were "beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the
breeze." They reminded me as I saw the beautiful arched line of "the
stars that shine and twinkle on the Milky Way," because "they stretched
in never-ending line along the margin of a bay"; and as I watched "ten
thousand" I saw, "tossing their heads in sprightly dance." And then they
reminded me of the waves which sparkled near by, "but they outdid the
sparkling waves in glee," and in the happiness which was mine, "I
gazed--and gazed,--but little thought what wealth the show to me had
brought." And that happiness I can depend upon when upon my couch I lie
in vacant or in pensive mood, for "they flash upon that inward eye which
is the bliss of solitude," and my heart will fill with pleasure and
dance with the daffodils.

These, then, are the big ideas which the poet has,--he wanders lonely as
a cloud, he enjoys the great surprise of the daffodils, the great crowd,
the host, of golden daffodils, fluttering and dancing in the breeze; he
thinks of the stars that twinkle in the Milky Way, because the line of
daffodils seems to have no beginning and no end,--he sees ten thousand
of them at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance. And as he
looks at them he thinks of the beauty of the sparklin