  I send you daffodils, my dear, For these are emperors of spring, And in my heart you keep so clear So delicate an empery, That none but emperors could be Ambassadors endowed to bring My messages of honesty. My mind makes faring to and fro, Deft or bewildered, dark or kind, That not the eye of God may know Which motion is of true estate And which a twisted runagate Of all the farings of my mind, And which has honesty for mate. Only my hope for you is clean Of scandal’s use, and though, may be, Far rangers have my passions been,— Since thus the word of Eden went,— Yet of the springs of my content, My very wells of honesty, Are you the only firmament.
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