Floral Poetry. 
171 
The Hawthorn clusters bloom above, 
The Primrose hides below, 
And on the lonely passer-by 
A modest glance doth throw ! 
The humble Primrose’ bonnie face 
I meet it everywhere ; 
Where other flowers disdain to bloom, 
It comes and nestles there. 
Like God’s own light, on every place 
In glory it doth fall; 
And where its dwelling-place is made 
It straightway hallows all ! 
The stars are sweet at eventide, 
But cold, and far away ; 
The clouds are soft in summer-time, 
But all unstable they : 
The Rose is rich—but pride of place 
Is far too high for me ; 
God’s simple common things I love—• 
My Primrose, such as thee ! 
I love the fireside of my home, 
Because all sympathies, 
The feelings fond of every day, 
Around its circle rise. 
And while admiring all the flowers 
That summer suns can give, 
Within my heart the Primrose sweet, 
In lowly love doth live ! 
Robert Nicoll. 
