A fine and subtle spirit dwells <br />In every little flower, <br />Each one its own sweet feeling breathes <br />With more or less of power. <br />There is a silent eloquence <br />In every wild bluebell <br />That fills my softened heart with bliss <br />That words could never tell. <br /> <br />Yet I recall not long ago <br />A bright and sunny day, <br />'Twas when I led a toilsome life <br />So many leagues away; <br /> <br />That day along a sunny road <br />All carelessly I strayed, <br />Between two banks where smiling flowers <br />Their varied hues displayed. <br /> <br />Before me rose a lofty hill, <br />Behind me lay the sea, <br />My heart was not so heavy then <br />As it was wont to be. <br /> <br />Less harassed than at other times <br />I saw the scene was fair, <br />And spoke and laughed to those around, <br />As if I knew no care. <br /> <br />But when I looked upon the bank <br />My wandering glances fell <br />Upon a little trembling flower, <br />A single sweet bluebell. <br /> <br />Whence came that rising in my throat, <br />That dimness in my eye? <br />Why did those burning drops distil -- <br />Those bitter feelings rise? <br /> <br />O, that lone flower recalled to me <br />My happy childhood's hours <br />When bluebells seemed like fairy gifts <br />A prize among the flowers, <br /> <br />Those sunny days of merriment <br />When heart and soul were free, <br />And when I dwelt with kindred hearts <br />That loved and cared for me. <br /> <br />I had not then mid heartless crowds <br />To spend a thankless life <br />In seeking after others' weal <br />With anxious toil and strife. <br /> <br />'Sad wanderer, weep those blissful times <br />That never may return!' <br />The lovely floweret seemed to say, <br />And thus it made me mourn.<br /><br />Anne Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-bluebell/
