N 



THE PRIMROSE 



O more, from now, called pale and wan. 

 As though a pitiful weak thing : 



A sickly offspring of weak Sun 

 And youngish Spring. 



Thy father's golden skin is thine, 



And his eye's gleam ; but his bold rays 



Are tempered by thy mother's blood 

 To softer ways. 



For thou hast made the banks ooze gold. 

 And made old woods their darkness break , 



In them I would not fall at night, 

 Wert thou awake. 



Here is the Primrose family : 



The first bom is full blown and tall ; 

 Two in half bloom just reach his chin. 



Three are buds small. 



Then, since the first bom healthy seems— 

 No drooping one I 've chanced upon — 



It would be speaking false to call 

 Them pale and wan. 



They mean the Primrose plucked and withered, 



Not growing in his golden shine, 

 Who 'd prove by him how Phyllis looks 



When she doth pine. 

 44 



