The blue bell is the sweetest flower br That waves in summer air; br Its blossoms have the mightiest power br To soothe my spirit's care. br br There is a spell in purple heath br Too wildly, sadly dear; br The violet has a fragrant breath br But fragrance will not cheer. br br The trees are bare, the sun is cold; br And seldom, seldom seen; br The heavens have lost their zone of gold br The earth its robe of green; br br And ice upon the glancing stream br Has cast its sombre shade br And distant hills and valleys seem br In frozen mist arrayed - br br br The blue bell cannot charm me now br The heath has lost its bloom, br The violets in the glen below br They yield no sweet perfume. br br But though I mourn the heather-bell br 'Tis better far, away; br I know how fast my tears would swell br To see it smile today; br br And that wood flower that hides so shy br Beneath the mossy stone br Its balmy scent and dewy eye: br 'Tis not for them I moan. br br It is the slight and stately stem, br The blossom's silvery blue, br The buds hid like a sapphire gem br In sheaths of emerald hue. br br 'Tis these that breathe upon my heart br A calm and softening spell br That if it makes the tear-drop start br Has power to soothe as well. br br For these I weep, so long divided br Through winter's dreary day, br In longing weep--but most when guided br On withered banks to stray.