Great Regulars: "I wandered lonely as a cloud."

After reading such a line, comment seems superfluous. Time appears to stop. We look up from the page. We feel happy.

But why do we feel happy? What is it about this line that gives us the unmistakable shiver of poetry? Why is it so beautiful? Perhaps it has something to do with its balance of sadness and wonder.

from Christopher Nield: The Epoch Times: The Antidote--Classic Poetry for Modern Life: A Reading of 'Daffodils' by William Wordsworth

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