Francis Kilvert's Diary: May 1876
He wrote this 3 years before his death: 1840-1879. He was only 39. I edited the prose entry and changed the format into stanzas. I hope the things he saw, stayed with him. His ability to see, inspired me. The beauty of a garden is found by simply looking with your soul. To look upon life in this manner is to be alive.
Through the gate of a meadow,
I saw a cherry tree,
snowy with blossoms,
that scented the air.
Along the wild broken bank,
among the stems of the hawthorn hedge,
there grew a profusion of bluebells,
I never saw bluebells more beautiful.
They grew tall and stately,
singularly and in groups,
and sometimes in such a crowd,
that they filled the hallow places,
and deep shadows of the overarching hedge,
with a sweet blue gloom and tender azure mist,
that floated among the young bright ferns.
Here or there a sunbeam found its way,
through a little window in the thick leafage over head,
singling out one bluebell amongst the crowd,
tipping the rich and heavily hanging clusters of bells,
Tipping it with a brilliant gleam and blue glory,
crowning the flower a queen,
among her ladies and handmaidens,
who stood in the background of green shade.