The Happy Garden 



window through which a delicious peep of the 

 river can be seen and often the brilliant flashing 

 blue of the kingfisher and the sober navigation of 

 the water fowl. 



The chestnuts never will become chairs. They 

 will never be swept into the commercial machine : 

 like so many men, they are too old ! 



Still the most beautiful of all lies before us— 

 the bluebell wood : a mossy bank rising from a 

 little backwater that runs through the withy bed, 

 up under giant beech and oak and pines. Even in 

 January there are flowers here, snowdrops are 

 spread in a sheet up and down and even over the 

 path. These give way to daffodils, primroses, and 

 celandine, then to blue bells : — 



" 1 wonder if Tm awake. 



Those trees never used to grow 

 Bathing their feet in a deep blue lake, 

 I can't make it out, yon know. 



I ahvays thought of the sky 



High lifted over my head: 

 So please can you tell me the reason why 



It's under my feet instead 1 



But the bellmen of Elfin Town 



Ring out their delicate chime. 

 The world has not turned upside doicn, 



It is only— Bluebell time." 



And, as a last challenge to the marching seasons, 

 foxgloves raise aloft their spears and defy the 



114 



