A Sonnet for Solace

Nuns fret not at their convent’s narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest peak of Furness-fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison, into which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods, ’twas pastime to be bound
Within the sonnet’s scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.

William Wordsworth 


Today felt like the first real summer’s day of the year, and the sun lit up the garden and lifted my soul. Unlike most people, I am not very fond of travelling, which is just as well really because my husband is not able to go far from home at the moment, so these days we spend our time mostly either indoors or in the garden, except for short local walks for exercise. I know that most people would find that incredibly restricting, but I’m content, as long as we’re together. It does mean, however, that my blips are, of necessity, somewhat limited in scope.

I’m very fond of all cottage flowers, hence this photo that I took of a foxglove which has just emerged in one of the flower beds in our back garden. The accompanying sonnet by Wordsworth mentions my beloved Lake District fells and talks about bees spending hours buzzing around foxglove flowers, but its wider message is the defence of the constraints which the sonnet form place on a poet, rejecting the idea that the restrictions are undesirable. 

So here you have a blip which sums up several of my passions at one go. A cottage flower in my back garden, a sonnet by one of my favourite poets and some encouragement to keep being creative whatever the circumstances.