Classic Poem

Grey was the morn, all things were grey,
'Twas winter more than spring;
A bleak east wind swept o'er the land,
And sobered everything.

Grey was the sky, the fields were grey,
The hills, the woods, the trees —
Distance and foreground — all the scene
Was grey in the grey breeze.

Grey cushions, and a grey skin rug,
A dark grey wicker trap,
Grey were the ladies' hats and cloaks,
And grey my coat and cap.

A narrow, lonely, grey old lane;
And lo, on a grey gate,
Just by the side of a grey wood,
A sooty sweep there sat!

With grimy chin 'twixt grimy hands
He sat and whistled shrill;
And in his sooty cap he wore
A yellow daffodil.

And often when the days are dull,
I seem to see him still —
The jaunty air, the sooty face —
And the yellow daffodil.