
54 POETRY OF 
PRIMROSE. | 
Mark in yonder thorny vale, Y } 
Fearless of the falling snows, 
Careless of the chilly gale, 
Passing sweet the Primrose blows. 
| 
Milder gales and warmer beams, 
May the gaudier flow’rets rear ; | 
But to me the Primrose seems 
Proudest gem that decks the year. 
TULIP. 
Who thus, O Tulip! thy gay painted breast 
In all the colors of the sun has drest ? 
Well could I call thee, in thy gaudy pride, 
The Queen of flow’rs ; but blooming by thy side 
Her thousand leaves that beams of love adorn, 
Her throne surrounded by protecting thorn, 
And smell eternal, form a juster claim, 
Which gives the heaven-born Ross the lofty 
name, 
Who, having slept throughout the wintry storm, 
Now through the op’ning buds displays her 
smiling form. Kueisr. 
