Walking with Bluebells

 

The Bluebell 

 by Anne Bronte

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.

Yet I recall not long ago
A bright and sunny day,
'Twas when I led a toilsome life
So many leagues away;

That day along a sunny road
All carelessly I strayed,
Between two banks where smiling flowers
Their varied hues displayed.

Before me rose a lofty hill,
Behind me lay the sea,
My heart was not so heavy then
As it was wont to be.

Less harassed than at other times
I saw the scene was fair,
And spoke and laughed to those around,
As if I knew no care.

But when I looked upon the bank
My wandering glances fell
Upon a little trembling flower,
A single sweet bluebell.

Whence came that rising in my throat,
That dimness in my eye?
Why did those burning drops distil —
Those bitter feelings rise?

O, that lone flower recalled to me
My happy childhood's hours
When bluebells seemed like fairy gifts
A prize among the flowers,

Those sunny days of merriment
When heart and soul were free,
And when I dwelt with kindred hearts
That loved and cared for me.

I had not then mid heartless crowds
To spend a thankless life
In seeking after others' weal
With anxious toil and strife.

'Sad wanderer, weep those blissful times
That never may return!'
The lovely floweret seemed to say,
And thus it made me mourn.

https://allpoetry.com/poem/8457985-The-Bluebell-by-Anne-Bront%C3%AB

I guess Anne must have written this bluebell poem during the unhappy days when she had to earn her living as a governess.  How sad all lives seem when seen in retrospect. But how could it be otherwise given the tragedy are are still living in?

It is bluebell season in Sussex again. So I have lived to see another one, for which I am thankful, but we can no longer go for our bluebell walk. It used to be Col, Jacks and me - a spring ritual. Now Jacks is in a wheelchair, in a Care Home, I am housebound, and Col has to go on his own. He has found a lot of photos of himself, Jacks and Bruce in Spain which he is going to take to show her on our next visit.

I need to think about what walks through bluebell woods will be like in the restored earthly paradise.  Once again, I hope we are all there to find out.

The situation in the Middle East had a moment of temporary calm on Tuesday night - I was up in the early hours taking painkillers, and turned the News on. But it all seems more insane than ever today, so who knows?

What human government can ever give us true peace and security - no matter how sincerely it might want to?

I fell deeply asleep after lunch, exhausted after a morning of doing the washing, unloading the Abel & Cole and making a rhubarb crumble (tasks which would not have exhausted me even a few years ago).   I was woken, suddenly, from a dream, by the phone.  Assuming it was Col from The Field I was busy saying : "Hello, hello Col, I can't hear you, the reception must be bad" (as it so often is from The Field), when a man's voice said: "Hello this is the Electric Something. Am I speaking to the homeowner?"  "Yes", I said, "but we don't want any more electricity thanks. We already have some." "Er..." And I put the phone down

He didn't ring back. The poor guy must have thought he had dialled the local Home for the Mentally Challenged by mistake.