Gold days give way to sudden rain,
But what, I ask, of that?
For I am my own man again,
And gloom comes sprawling flat.
Let grouchers grieve and nurse the hump
Because bleak winds still shout;
But I don't care a tupp'ny dump;
From zero - whoop! - my spirits jump:
The daffodils are out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem