I have long associated the smell and sight of bluebells with 'I capture the castle' by Dodie Smith. Cassandra, our heroine, smells bluebell perfume in the upperclass department store and she declares that it smells like heaven. She is asked to walk in the woods to see the bluebells with Stephen, the lad who loves her unrequited- and she imagines it in her mind:
Cassandra: Can you smell bluebells?
Stephen: I can smell heaven.
Bluebells and a walk in the woods are synonymous with romance and fragility in my mind.
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CBC and I went to our local woodland to see the bluebells that carpeted the forest, their dusky bells ringing our a silent song of joy! There is a silent magnificence I find in the woods. The trees look down in the wisdom of age, knowing, remembering in taciturn thought.
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The hues of a carpet of bluebells- their smell, their transient fragility:
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Each individual bloom ringing out a symphony in blue!
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We meandered on, stopping every second to carefully view the vivid hostesses of the woods, careful never to damage their fleeting glory.
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And who is this upon yonder tree-stump?
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Come closer...it is the bluebell transfigured!
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Up and down, up and down, I wander up and down
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Over hill, over vale, thorough bush, thorough briar
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And then I encountered Robin Puck in his raincoat, riding the waves of the fallen logs.
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Traversing the trees and branches in careless abandon.
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He swung from his fairy ladder like the birds whose constant refrain echoed in those woods.
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I found this poem by Anne Bronte at this site. Tis is a little melancholic but nonetheless beautiful and befitting of these wonderful flowers.
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The Blue Bell
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 S
o 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.
By Anne Bronte.
Oh Spring is glorious! I thank God for the beauty that comes anew and never grows stale!
Don't forget my giveaway- open for a week more!
Cassandra: Can you smell bluebells?
Stephen: I can smell heaven.
Bluebells and a walk in the woods are synonymous with romance and fragility in my mind.
CBC and I went to our local woodland to see the bluebells that carpeted the forest, their dusky bells ringing our a silent song of joy! There is a silent magnificence I find in the woods. The trees look down in the wisdom of age, knowing, remembering in taciturn thought.
The hues of a carpet of bluebells- their smell, their transient fragility:
Each individual bloom ringing out a symphony in blue!
We meandered on, stopping every second to carefully view the vivid hostesses of the woods, careful never to damage their fleeting glory.
And who is this upon yonder tree-stump?
Come closer...it is the bluebell transfigured!
Up and down, up and down, I wander up and down
Over hill, over vale, thorough bush, thorough briar
And then I encountered Robin Puck in his raincoat, riding the waves of the fallen logs.
Traversing the trees and branches in careless abandon.
He swung from his fairy ladder like the birds whose constant refrain echoed in those woods.
I found this poem by Anne Bronte at this site. Tis is a little melancholic but nonetheless beautiful and befitting of these wonderful flowers.
The Blue Bell
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 S
o 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.
By Anne Bronte.
Oh Spring is glorious! I thank God for the beauty that comes anew and never grows stale!
Don't forget my giveaway- open for a week more!