Foxglove

I didn’t get to blip my Carlisle roofscape today but came home to my white foxglove instead and noticed this unusual enlarged bell.

On 27 July 1800 “After tea we rowed down to Loughrigg Fell, visited the white foxglove, gathered wild strawberries, & walked up to view Rydale we lay a long time looking at the lake, the shores all embrowned with the scorching sun.” 

Nun’s Fret Not at Their Convent’s Narrow Room - William Wordsworth

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.