TO-NIGHT from deeps of loneliness I wake in wistful wonder
To a sudden sense of brightness, an immanence of blue—
O are there bluebells swaying in a shadowy coppice yonder,
Shriven with the dawning and the dew?

For little silver echoes are all about me ringing,
A crystal chime of waters where a wayward brooklet strays,
Faint robin-trills and dove-calls and happy children's singing
And merrimenTof long-forgotten Mays.

And then my heart remembers a shady reach of wildwood
Sweet with bloom and innocence, with joy of bird and stream
Where bluebells rang their fragrant chimes in sunny springs of childhood
Calling me to fairyland and dream.

And so I know across the years that disenchant and harden,
Through midnight's alien silence and the black wind's mockery,
Down from some paradisal glade, some green, immortal garden
The souls of bluebells come to comfort me.