POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
195 
The Evening Primrose, emblematic of silent 
love, does not unclose her cup of paly gold until 
her lowly sisters are rocked into a balmy slum¬ 
ber, and until 
“ The moon 
Lifts up Night’s curtains, and with visage mild 
Smiles on the beauteous earth, her sleeping child.” 
She loves to look the pale moon in the face, 
and often in the witching hour of deep midnight, 
when stars keep their watch on high, you may 
see the hospitable plant surrounded by such in¬ 
sects as avoid the light of day—warmly-coated 
moths, and beetles of various kinds, which re¬ 
sort to her for their nightly banquet. 
Often, when the nights are dark, and not the 
slightest breath of air is stirring, her petals 
emit a mild phosphoric light, and look as illu¬ 
minated for a holiday. Every part is conse¬ 
quently rendered visible ; and he who does not 
fear to be out in her wild and lonely growing- 
place, may see a variety of nocturnal ephemera 
and insects hovering around the lighted petals or 
sipping at the vegetable fountains, while others 
rest among the branches, or hurry up the stems 
as if fearing to be too late. The phosphores¬ 
cent light thus kindled answers, without doubt, 
the purpose of a lamp, to guide the steps or 
flight of innumerable living creatures that love 
the night; and this is the more essential, be¬ 
cause flowers of all kinds are generally closed. 
