Daffodils which are so beautiful even though they grew among the mossy stones. Some of them rest their heads upon these stones, as on a pillow for weariness; and the rest toss and reel and dance, and seem as if they verily laugh with the wind, that blew upon them over the lake; they look so gay, ever glancing, ever changing. So are you and me my son, daffodils, the difference is we are on different stones.
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