Ye daffodilian days, whose fallen towers 
Shielded our paradisal prime from ill, 
Fair Past, fair motherhood! let come what will, 
We, being yours, defy the anarch powers. 
For us the happy tidings fell, in showers 
Enjewelling the wind from every hill; 
We drained the sun against the winter's chill; 
Our ways were barricadoed in with flowers: 

And if from skyey minsters now unhoused, 
Earth's massy workings at the forge we hear, 
The black roll of the congregated sea, 
And war's live hoof: O yet, last year, last year 
We were the lark-lulled shepherdlings, that drowsed 
Grave-deep, at noon, in grass of Arcady!