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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