In vacant or in pensive mood,
And be one traveler, long I stood
To cool in the peppermint wind
Of a surf-tormented shore.

The dews drew quivering and chill:
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
The roof was scarcely visible.

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Yet if hope has flown away
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
Somewhere ages and ages hence
My heart moves from cold to fire,
And dances with the daffodils.