172 
Floral Poetry. 
THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 
j^CAIR flower, that shunn’st the glare of day, 
Yet lov’st to open, meekly bold, 
To evening hues of sober grey, 
Thy cup of paly gold; 
Be thine the offering, owing long, 
To thee, and to this pensive hour, 
Of the brief tributary song, 
Though transient as thy flower. 
I love to watch at silent eve 
Thy scattered blossoms’ lonely light ; 
And have my inmost heart receive 
The influence of that sight. 
I love, at such an hour, to mark 
Their beauty greet the light breeze chill, 
And shine, ’mid shadows gathering dark, 
The garden’s glory still. 
For such, ’tis sweet to think the while, 
When cares and griefs the breast invade, 
In friendship’s animating smile, 
In sorrow’s dark’ning shade. 
