POETEY OE FLOWEES. 
157 
TO THE EVENING OR TREE PRIM¬ 
ROSE. 
Fair flower, that shun’st the glare of day 
Yet lov’st to open, meekly bold. 
To evening’s hues of sober gray. 
Thy cup of palely gold; 
Be thine the offering, owing long 
To thee, and to this pensive hour, 
Of one brief tributary song. 
Though ti'ansient 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 night 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. 
Is friendship’s animating smile. 
In sorrow’s dark’ning shade. 
