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Intimations of Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

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By all accounts...

this was a vicarious experience. He nicked the idea from notes in his sister, Dorothy's, journal.

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who was it that said

good writers borrow, great writers steal...