BLUEBELLS

O this bluebell heart that in springtime burns
Bursting and breaking where the earth’s unturned,
Where man could not or has forgotten to reach
With spade or plough, underneath the sweeping bough
Of a newly budding beach, a thin carpet for the wood
Drawn from the brown earth’s unimagined forms
A bright lawn laid, so lightening our heavy feet
That we tread no more on earth, but air.