Sunday, 23 April 2017

English Bluebells

English Bluebells by Roger Thomas
In Spring, English woodlands turn sapphire, carpeted by bluebells.  Oddly, though, there aren't many poems which mention them. Perhaps they are too humble ?  I prize them, though, beyond many garden flowers, for they turn up year after year.  There is a poem, by Anne Bronte, but it's a bit twee for tough little b's like bluebells.  But here an extract:

A fine and subtle spirit dwells
In every little flower,
Each one its own sweet feeling breathes
With more or less of power.
There is a silent eloquence
In every wild bluebell
That fills my softened heart with bliss
That words could never tell.

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