A Wordsworth Day

In honour of the nicest day of the year so far:

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.

This afternoon, at home. Though since we're at the foot of the Yarrow valley, this poem is almost as appropriate.