At Bluebell Time
At bluebell time the light of heaven
Is caught and held in many a glen,
As though some extra grace were given
To gladden hearts of busy men.
Where trees begin to cast their shade
With ever-thickening web of leaves
A living carpet, blue is laid
To make a garden fair as Eve’s.
Not here the gaudy hues of wealth,
The glaring gems of earthly fame;
Only the love that works by stealth,
And seeks nor recompense nor fame.
No gilded halls for potentates…
Can boast the beauty here revealed,
The stones that deck the angels’ gates
Are found in every glen and field