Classic Poem

The golden sun looks gladly down
On golden rows of daffodils;
He crowns them with his golden crown,
With golden rays each blossom fills,
And every blighting breeze he stills.

With golden trumpets in their hands,
On pliant stems they lightly swing,
In cheerful, dauntless, gorgeous bands,
Their trumpets to the breeze they fling,
And sound the overture to Spring.

Gone is the winter's dreaded power,
Gone are the cold and weary days,
Now comes the soul-refreshing shower,
Now sheds the sun his brightest rays,
Their golden trumps are tuned to praise.

Praise Him, ye trumpeters of Spring
Whose mighty love new life distills.
My heart shall with your music ring,
Until your rapture through me thrills,
Ye golden-throated daffodils!