Quite forgotten, in the wood,
Pale, crowded steeples rise;
All the time that they have stood
None has heard their melodies.
Deep, deep in wizardry
All the foxglove belfries stand.
Should they startle over the land,
None would know what bells they be.
Never any wind can ring them,
Nor the great black bees that swing them–
Every crimson bell, down-slanted,
Is so utterly enchanted.
These foxgloves are growing where our garden merges into the surrounding woodland. We have some of the more conventional purple ones too, but I particularly love this pure white variety, which is called ‘alba’. It can be quite dark under the trees, but these beauties really stand out, especially at dusk.