Wordsworth saw the daffodils at Ullswater in 1802 and wrote the poem two years later, remembering them. The poem is about memory itself: how a moment of natural beauty, almost casually observed, becomes a permanent resource for the 'inward eye.' The meter is simple, the diction plain, the sentiment apparently naive. And yet the poem has survived two centuries of sophistication. Something in it cannot be mocked away. When you have seen daffodils, you think of Wordsworth. He made them his.