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Is the unknown peninsula.Beauty is nature’s fact.But witness for her land,And witness for her sea,The cricket is her utmostOf elegy to me.

Daffodils a-blowHomesick curiosityTo the Souls that snow—Drift may block within itDeeper than without—Daffodil delight butHim it duplicate—

And took Himself, for Pay,The solemn contract of a LifeWas ratified, this way—The Wealth might disappoint—Myself a poorer proveThan this great Purchaser suspect,The Daily Own—of LoveDepreciate the Vision—But till the Merchant buy—Still Fable—in the Isles of Spice—The subtle Cargoes—lie—At least—’tis Mutual—Risk—Some—found it—Mutual Gain—Sweet Debt of Life—Each Night to owe—Insolvent—every Noon—

Debated—Rose again—This time—beyond the estimateOf Envy, or of Men—And now, among Circumference—Her steady Boat be seen—At home—among the Billows—AsThe Bough where she was born—

A Resonance of Emerald–A Rush of Cochineal–And every Blossom on the BushAdjusts its tumbled Head–The mail from Tunis, probably,An easy Morning’s Ride–

Is not so ample as the breastThese emerald seams enclose.Step lofty; for this name is toldAs far as cannon dwell,Or flag subsist, or fame exportHer deathless syllable.