Bluebells

When again may I tread the trails
Among the bluebells' drowsy cowls?
It seems an impossible task these days
To organize any pilgrimage,
Especially one to that fertile swath,
That mudplain where spring beauties huddle
With budding mertensias clustered near.
O to crud up my boots once more,
To tramp without trampling the tender stems!
It would so give me great delight
To be in those jalousie-shadowed woods,
Beneath the pawpaws' ruddy blooms--
Scant but audacious flop-lipped kissers--
Between the embankments of silty rills,
A holy, ethereal other-place,
My heels begrimed with sacred muck.