PRIMROSE. 
77 
In this low vale, the promise of the year, 
Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale, 
Unnoticed and alone, 
Thy tender elegance. 
So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms 
Of chill adversity ; in some lone walk 
Of life she rears her head, 
Obscure and unobserved;— 
While every bleaching breeze that on her blows. 
Chastens her spotless purity of breast, 
And hardens her to bear 
Serene, the ills of life. 
PRIMROSES. 
KEATS. 
A tuft of evening primroses, 
O’er which the mind may hover till it dozes ; 
O’er which it well might take a pleasant sleep. 
But that ’tis ever startled by the leap 
Of buds into ripe flowers. 
SAD PRIMROSES. 
PROFESSOR WILSON. 
But we have daisies, which, like love 
Or hope, spring everywhere ; 
And primroses, which droop above 
Some self-consuming care. 
