Daffodils

Ce matin, en descendant au bord de la Juine avec Monsieur B., nous avons vu que la colonie de jonquilles indigènes qui pousse chez Laurent et Marie restait fidèle au poste.



Germinal s'est aussitôt senti d'humeur wordsworthienne :

I wandered 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.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

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.

William Wordsworth

Monsieur B. n'est certes pas insensible au charme romantique des jonquilles, mais il reste convaincu que rien ne vaut une bonne vieille flaque bien boueuse !