Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The Daffodils grew and still grow on the
margin of Ullswater and probably may be seen to this day as beautiful in the month of March,
nodding their golden heads beside the dancing and
foaming waves.
Daffodils:
I wander lonely as a cloud,
through fair England's gardens green,
her chaste and comely presence,
plucks a fine melody,
upon the tuneful strings of my swollen heart.
And yet.....
I cannot resist the machinations of my soul,
I feel it stirring in my throat,
those foul and
pestilent words,
which cage my very being;
the FUCKING
BASTARD CUNT WANKS,
COME ON YOU TWAT FACED ARSE CUNT,
I'LL KICK THE LIVING FUCK FROM YOUR
SHITTY BOLLOCKS - CUNT, WANK, FUCK, SHIT, FUCK, SHIT, FUCK.