POETitY OF FLOWERS. 
101 
Whether upon the mountain’s brow, 
Or in the valley deep, 
Whether upon the wall you grow, 
Or on the craggy steep, 
There dost thou blossom all the same, 
Free as the morning air, 
Oh how I love to look on thee, 
All smiling meek as fair! 
And thou art on the dewy green, 
The sweet Spring-time to cheer; 
Thou bloom’st upon eaeh changing scene, 
Throughout the changing year; 
Smiling alike on morn and eve— 
In simple robings dress’d, 
I fondly love thee, gentle flow’r, 
With white and golden crest. 
TO THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 
Fair Flower, that shunn’st the glare of day. 
Yet lov’st to open, meekly bold, 
To evening’s hues of sober grey 
Thy cup of paly gold 
lie thine the offering owinsr lono- 
0 OO 
To thee, and to this pensive hour. 
Of one brief tributary song, 
Though transient as thy flower. 
