Daffodils by William Wordsworth (read by Tom O’Bedlam)

As Abe Lincoln said, “For those who like this sort of thing, this is the sort of thing they like.“ This is Wordsworth’s most famous poem and, in fact, one of the most famous poems in English literature so I can’t just ignore it. It has been inflicted on generations of hapless schoolchildren. A collection of Daffodils is more a “patch“ than a “crowd“ or a “host“ - except if they’re in a “never-ending line“, when perhaps “row“ would be more appropriate. The line will of course not be “never-ending“ and it’s nowhere near as big as the Milky Way because, man, that’s like really humongous: anyway he lost my credulity when he claimed to be able to count ten-thousand at a glance. I have to mention that daffodils are not golden, they’re yellow and they can’t dance. The notion that daffodils or waves have human emotions such as glee or jocundity or that clouds can be lonely is called “The Pathetic Fallacy“, an expression coined by John Ruskin. If your heart dan