56 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 



PALE Primrose ! lingering for the evening star 

 To bless thee with its beam, like some fair 



child, 



Who, ere he rests on Morpheus downy car, 

 Doth wait his mother s blessing, pure and 



mild, 



To hallow his gay dream. His red lips breathe 

 The prompted prayer, fast by that parent s 



knee, 

 Even as thou rear st thy sweetly fragrant 



wreath 

 To matron Evening, while she smiles on thee. 



Go to thy rest, pale flower ! The star hath shed 

 His benison upon thy bosom fair, 



The dews of summer bathe thy pensive head, 

 And weary man forgets his daily care : 



Sleep on, rny rose ! till morning gilds the sky, 



And bright Aurora s kiss unseals thy trembling 

 eye. 



