Floral Poetry. 
TO PRIMROSES 
FILLED WITH MORNING DEW. 
W HY do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears 
Speak grief in you, 
Who were but born 
Just as the modest morn 
Teemed her refreshing dew? 
Alas ! ye have not known that shower 
That mars a flower; 
Nor felt the unkind 
Breath of a blasting wind; 
Nor are ye worn with years; 
Or warped as we, 
Who think it strange to see 
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, 
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue. 
Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known 
The reason why 
Ye droop and weep. 
Is it for want of sleep, 
Or childish lullaby? 
Or that ye have not seen as yet 
The Violet ? 
Or brought a kiss 
From that sweetheart to this ? 
No, no ; this sorrow shown 
By your tears shed, 
Would have this lecture read ; 
That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, 
Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth. 
