Bluebell Wood

To walk through a bluebell wood is a real herald of Spring. The fragrance is astounding! Sadly, I am unable to share the scent but I can share some of my walk……I hope you get the same sense of peacefulness that I experienced.

By chance, on the day of this walk, I heard my first Cuckoo of the year so thought that this poem was a fitting accompaniment.

To the Cuckoo

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Thou messenger of Spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome ring.

What time the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear:
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.

What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fli’st thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,
Another Spring to hail.

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No Winter in thy year!

O could I fly, I’d fly with thee!
We’d make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o’er the globe,
Companions of the Spring.

John Logan

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