The way a bee’s instincts are tuned to think of a daffodil would certainly be different from the way Wordsworth would see it. Maybe as humans we are likely to conclude that as the bee had reached the flower for its nectar, the bee ‘thinks’ of its purpose and desire as one of utilitarianism. The flower is there; the bee can get nectar from its flower; the bee has the body to reach the flower; and the bee could extract the nectar and take it back to its hive – therefore motivated by the utility of the nectar, the bee reaches the flower.

But does the bee ever feel thankful that the flower provides what it seeks or desires as useful? Or at least does it feel thankful to the person who had raised the flower on that plant which had been raised on the flowerbed?

The flower, on the other hand is it aware of the fact that the bee had entered it for the nectar and nectar only – and not for cross pollination? Or is the flower busy savouring the pollens imported by the bee and lavishing itself in those throes of ecstasy of being pollinated?

Wordsworth of Windermere, is filled with ecstasy and his heart dances with the swaying daffodils in the gentle breeze. Wordsworth is not aware of the millions of bees entering and exiting the daffodils pollinating the flowers, nor aware of the objects of the bee and the hierarchy that it has in the hive of having to satisfy the supposed expectations of a languorous and fecund Queen; nor is Wordsworth aware of his own insignificance to the bee or the flower:


Wordsworth lets his heart dance with the daffodils. Life in its various dimensions would be and should be and is, in a state of activity and flux, but Wordsworth has to derive his own lasting impressions based on his own little experiences – valuing his own perspective. Otherwise, there would be no daffodils dancing in Wordsworth’s inward eye nor would he have any memories which could unorbit him from those pensive mood.

In the upcoming days of self imposed isolation by all Indians, it is time they dusted their memories and started moistening those desiccated memories and start cheering up their hearts and feel the mirth that certain experiences evoked in jocund Company!

As a homage to the poem, the same is reproduced below for a quick recap:

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud


I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.