Welcome to the fold. This is the blog of Gimmer, a New World shepherd.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Gold of the daffodil, drawn Out of the cup of the dawn, Gold of the daffodil, born In the bright mines of the morn, Gold of the daffodil, spun On the warm loom of the sun, Flood through my spirit, and smite Me with thine orient light! I that am pallid and poor, Wasted by winter away, Be thou my succor and cure! Quicken my questioning clay! That I may rouse me and sing, Touch thou my pulses with spring!