

THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
| TO THE PRIMROSE. 
BY BIDLAKE, 
Pave visitant of balmy sprin 
Joy of the new-born oe 
| Soon as thy buds appear: 
While o’er the incense-breathing sky 
The tepid hours first dare to fly, 
} And vainly woo the chilling breeze 
| That, bred in winter’s frozen lan 
Still | struggung chains the lingering say 
| Within the ‘widow'd trees. 
Remote from towns, thy transient lite 
\| Is spent in skies more pure ; 
| The suburb smoke. the seat of strife, 
Thou canst but ill endure. 
— rustic ! 

thou art blooming found 
|| Where artless nature’s charms abound, 
Sweet neighbour of the chanter rill ; 
Well p leased to =p the silvery tide, : 
Or nodding o'er the fountain’s side, 
Self-gazing look thy fill; 
5? 
| That bidd’st young hope new-plume his wing, 





















