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| The grounds of Ryston Hall |
A friend of mine, Steve Ridley, is one of the leading authorities on Constance Naden, a 19th century poet and philosopher. Through his research he discovered that the house in Birmingham, where Constance grew up, was still standing and in 2009 he was asked to unveil a Blue Plaque to commemorate her life. When I was driving home through the fog this morning, I paused to take a photo of these majestic trees and I was reminded of this beautiful Winter poem; granted it's about frost not fog but the line 'The oak-tree twigs are finely interlaced' is what sprang to mind. I'm immensely proud to know Steve and I hope he appreciates this tribute to one of his literary heroes.
January 28th, 1880 by Constance Naden
No more I long for April's fitful sheen,
For little fluttering lives, that passed in June,
For leaves and flowers, by sad October lost;
Since now in ecstasy mine eyes have seen
The rich blue heaven of a summer noon
O'er dazzling trees, thick-robed with mossy frost.
Amid the leafless hedge-rows jewel-twined,
Great trunks and boughs, not crystal-clad as they,
Like black majestic arches I behold;
All wreathed and crowned with woven sprays, defined
In every tender shade of pearly grey,
And radiant white, that glitters into gold.
Around the mighty limbs all gnarled and bowed,
The oak-tree twigs are finely interlaced;
The willows droop in bright cascades of foam,
Each distant tree, a white and feathery cloud,
The nearer branches, delicately traced,
And gleaming pure against the azure dome.
The winds are hushed - there comes no murmuring breeze
To stir the poplar's lofty sun-lit cone,
Or myriad branchlets of the wide-spread beech:
Through this all-glorious temple of the trees,
As through the house of God, I walk alone;
A silence, as of worship, is their speech.
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