Daffodils                                           by Herbert Davis Richter
Oil on canvas                                       English Painter
29 x 24 inches                                        1871 – 1955

The daffodils bloomed early this year, but I keep thinking about them and this artist.  I just stumbled upon him, using one of his painting to illustrate a book review a couple of years back.   Today, however, Emily Dickinson’s poem seems fitting as text, even though Wordsworth’s verse about daffodils is more directly related.  I’m gearing up for posting a poem a day in April.  Join me?

Dear March - Come in!
How glad I am!
I hoped for you before.

Put down your hat -
You must have walked -
How out of Breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
and the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell!

I got your Letter, and the bird's:
The Maples never knew 
that you were coming - I declare
How red their faces grew!
But March, forgive me -
And all those hills
You left for me to hue -
There was no purple suitable -
You took it all with you.

Who knocks? That April!
Lock the Door!
I will not be pursued!
He stayed away a year, to call
When I am occupied.
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come
That blame is just as dear as praise
And praise as mere as blame.