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to the primrose.
I love, I love thee, primrose:
As I gaze, the veil which time
Flings o'er the past is lifted,
And sweet meadows in their prime
Seem spread, where young ones sporting
Fill with mirth each verdant wild,
And again I mingle with them,
And still deem myself a child.
As I gaze, the veil which time
Flings o'er the past is lifted,
And sweet meadows in their prime
Seem spread, where young ones sporting
Fill with mirth each verdant wild,
And again I mingle with them,
And still deem myself a child.
And again, sweet, modest primrose,
Fragrant gems of thee we bring,
As we ramble o'er the meadow
To seek rushes for our string;
And to bind our dewy treasures,
Sit us down by some bright stream;—
Oh! that mirth still floats around me,
Like glad voices in a dream.
Fragrant gems of thee we bring,
As we ramble o'er the meadow
To seek rushes for our string;
And to bind our dewy treasures,
Sit us down by some bright stream;—
Oh! that mirth still floats around me,
Like glad voices in a dream.
I love, I love thee, primrose,
Type of life's young morn art thou,
For thou bloom'st 'neath beams and showers,
Light as fall on childhood's brow;
Oh! I never see thy vesture,
With its chaste and simple dye,
But my heart seems overflowing
With a strangely mournful joy.
Type of life's young morn art thou,
For thou bloom'st 'neath beams and showers,
Light as fall on childhood's brow;
Oh! I never see thy vesture,
With its chaste and simple dye,
But my heart seems overflowing
With a strangely mournful joy.
