That Brave White Flower.

The Snowdrop

by Walter de la Mare

Now — now, as low I stooped, thought I,
I will see what this snowdrop is;
So shall I put much argument by,
And solve a lifetime's mysteries.

A northern wind had frozen the grass;
Its blades were hoar with crystal rime,
Aglint like light-dissecting glass
At beam of morning prime.

From hidden bulb the flower reared up
Its angled, slender, cold, dark stem,
Whence dangled an inverted cup
For tri-leaved diadem.

Beneath these ice-pure sepals lay
A triplet of green-pencilled snow,
Which in the chill-aired gloom of day
Stirred softly to and fro.

Mind fixed, but else made vacant, I,
Lost to my body, called my soul
To don that frail solemnity,
Its inmost self my goal.

And though in vain — no mortal mind
Across that threshold yet hath fared! —
In this collusion I divined
Some consciousness we shared.

Strange roads — while suns, a myriad, set —
Had led us through infinity;
And where they crossed, there then had met
Not two of us, but three.

'Mind fixed, but else made vacant'. Those words resonate as the cold latches on, searing through the cerebral cortex, moments lost from recollection as the bitter wind thrusts into the body, flaying focus and forcing us to only consider the vital, one heartbeat at a time.

We keen for the glimpse of Spring's sharp spike of glossy green, gaining passage through the glacial ground, catching the eye and reminding us that the frost will thaw, warmth will return, our minds will once again become freed from the fight to merely survive the cold and be able to consider beauty, ideas and the landscape once more.

That brave white flower...

One of the last collective moments of land-led magic, communities coming together for 'snowdrop weekends' walking parkways and gardens sharing the common relief in witnessing the ground revitalise and stir.

Hans Christian Anderson told the plants own fairy-tale, sharing its readiness to appear as other bulbs held fast beneath the surface:

     "Soon a sunbeam, so slender and penetrating, bored through the snow, down to the bulb, and tapped on it.

"Come in," said the Flower.

"That I can't do," said the Sunbeam. "I'm not strong enough to open you up. I shall be very strong by summer."

"When will it be summer?" asked the Flower and repeated this every time a new sunbeam came down to it. But summer was far off; snow remained on the earth, and ice formed on the water in the streams every blessed night.

"How long this lasts! How long this lasts!" said the Flower. "I feel a tingling and tickling. I must stretch myself; I must extend myself. I must open up; I must come out and wave good morning to the summer; that will be a wonderful time!"

And the Flower stretched itself and extended itself against the thin shell that had been softened by the rainwater, warmed by the blanket of earth and snow, and tapped upon by the Sunbeam. It burst forth beneath the snow, with a white and green bud on its green stalk, with narrow, thick leaves, curled around it as if for protection. The snow was cold, but light radiated down into it, making it quite easy to break through; and here now the Sunbeam streamed down with greater strength than before.

"Welcome! Welcome!" sang and rang out every sunbeam as the Flower rose above the snow, out into the world of light. The Sunbeams caressed and kissed it, so that it opened itself fully, white as snow and adorned with green stripes. It bowed it's head in happiness and humility.

"Beautiful flower!" sang the Sunbeams. "How fresh and pure you are! You are the first...You ring out the call of summer...All the snow shall melt; the cold winds be driven away...Everything shall grow green!

"You have come a little too early!" said Wind and Weather. "We still have power, and this you shall feel and have to comply with! You should have remained indoors, instead of rushing out here to display your finery! It is not the time for that yet!"

It was bitingly cold, and the days that followed didn't bring a sunbeam. It was weather to freeze such a delicate little flower to bits. But there was more strength in it than even it realized...

"Snowdrop!" rejoiced some children who came into the garden. "There stands one, so sweet, so beautiful-the first, the only one!

And these words made the Flower feel so well; they were like the warm Sunbeams. In its gladness it never noticed that it was being plucked. Then it lay in a child's hand, was kissed by a child's lips, brought into a warm room, gazed upon by kindly eyes, and set in water-so strengthening, so exhilarating. The Flower thought that it had all of a sudden come into midsummer."

Traditionally used to treat grief and trauma, now cherished for its galantamine, preventing rapid memory loss as Alzheimer's grips like a terrifying personal permafrost...the stories and legends of the Snowdrop so poetically echo it's uses, reverberating with the softening effect on the blow of midwinter.

Hans Christian Anderson's plucked bloom ends up as a lover's gift, an aide memoir in book of poetry, pressed and discovered after years have passed.

In the British Isles however lore suggests we never bring those pendulous white milk-flowers into the house as they may signify an imminent death, but they are also associated with hope and returning light, expected to first appear on Candlemas day as George Wilson says in his poem ‘The Origin of the snowdrop’

"And thus the snowdrop, like the bow
That spans the cloudy sky,
Becomes a symbol whence we know
That brighter days are nigh ; ”

Amanda Edmiston

This piece was originally published in Herbology News December 2020 which can still be read online.

Bibliography

The full translation of Hans Christian Anderson's story The Snowdrop can be read here https://andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/TheSnowdrop_e.html