The Bluebell

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.

Sadler Wellington Bluebell Vintage Tea Cup Set. England c1950s. Bone china. A tea cup produced; a highly regarded English china company; Sadler.

2 thoughts on “The Bluebell

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s