LENT LILY WOOD 125 



It is not surprising that John Clare, the poor peasant- 

 poet of Northamptonshire, dwells with affection on the 

 " drooping daffodil," for was it not a " sweet omen of 

 returning spring " ? The poems of Matthew Arnold 

 contain many choice allusions to wild flowers, especially 

 to those growing in the neighbourhood of Oxford, and 

 in his beautiful monody in commemoration of Arthur 

 Hugh Clough he calls to mind " the wood which hides 

 the daffodil." 



We remember, too, the lovely lines of Herrick : 



" Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 



You haste away so soon ; 

 As yet the early-rising sun 

 Has not attain'd his noon. 



Stay, stay, 

 Until the hasting day 



Has run 



But to the even-song ; 

 And having pray'd together, we 

 Will go with you along." 



The language of the poets may perhaps sound 

 somewhat high-flown and fanciful, and yet it seemed 

 to me that it was hardly possible to exaggerate 

 the calm and quiet beauty of Lent Lily W T ood as 

 I saw it in the fitful sunlight of a spring morning. 

 The wood in itself is one of exceptional charm, 

 with winding pathways ever opening out some new 

 vista of delight. But it is never so attractive as 

 when the daffodils are in flower. The sight is so 

 striking that it is stamped, as it were, upon the 

 memory. The experience of the poet of the English 

 lakes must have been often repeated in the case of 

 many a " wandering herbalist " who has had the good 



