"Over the shoulders and slopes to the dune
I saw the white daisies go down to the sea,
A host in the sunshine, an army in June,
The people God sends us to set our hearts free."
He read the next verse and then turned to Wordsworth's immortal lines:
"I wandered lonely as a cloud . . ."
He read the poem through, although he knew each dear, familiar word of it. Reading it helped his powers of concentration. It was amazing how quickly the suggestion of the words soothed him. As clearly as he had seen all the events of the day repeating themselves, he now saw the host of golden daffodils,
"Beside the lake, beneath the trees."
They obliterated the desert, with its immortal voices, its passionate appeals. He was no longer wandering lonely as a cloud. He was happy, he was one with the dancing daffodils, as he watched them
"Tossing their heads in sprightly dance."
To how many weary minds has the poem brought the same solace, the same spiritual refreshment?
"Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze."
His fingers relaxed their hold on the book. It dropped from his hand. Margaret stood among the daffodils, Margaret, with her steadfast eyes and dark-brown head, Margaret calling to him in the breeze.