He told of the beautiful young man named Narcissus who went hunting, got thirsty and found a pure pond from which to drink. Upon seeing his reflection in the still pond he fell deeply in love with the image he saw reflected in that pond. Loving his reflection so much, and having loved it in vain, he finally died alone and entered the Land of the Dead where he immediately ran to the banks of the River Styx and gazed sorrowfully down at the smear of a shadow in the fast moving river. At his death the nymphs, who were his sisters, all cropped their hair in lamentation. Surely we would have done the same.
When men came to build a funeral pyre to burn the body of Narcissus to ashes they could not find his body. But there, where he had perished, was a tall flower with a ruff of while petals with a round and dainty bugle-like center as yellow as the yolk of Roman hen's egg. Thus we find the origin of the lovely Narcissus flower.
Narcissus' father was Cephissus, a river god, and his mother was a nymph named Liriope. Liriope had been told by a prophet that her son, Narcissus, would grow to old age if he failed to recognize himself--as he did in the pond--alas! The liriope, related to the lily, is named for her.
William Wordsworth wrote a poem entitled: Daffodils. We will share the poem with you here:
I wandered lonely as a child
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When I saw at once a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beside the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought;
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
In John Milton's Lycidas, 1637, written in Middle English, he called this beautiful flower "Daffadillies." Yes, the writer reads such works.