As wandering lonely cloud over flowers
He makes poet’s observation on the bay
Near where a wind makes its sea waves.

He comes back to the couch for a flash
On an inward eye , in a bliss of solitude,
What makes poet mind gay and jocund.

The flash is now worth a full size poem,
Emotion recollected on  couch’s peace.
Lake poet was child ,the father of man.

Lovely daffodils are not lonely as cloud
They dance to a  wind as unruly crowd.
It is a  poet who is lonely on the couch.

Poetry is not the spontaneous overflow,
From emotions, except on poet’s couch.
That is where poetry is made in leisure.

(‘I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud’ is the classic Daffodils poem by William Wordsworth , in many ways an exposition of Wordsworth’s ideas of what constitutes poetry)

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