e: 
HE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 208 
THE EARLY PRIMROSE. 
Ask e me why I send you here | 
is firstling of the infant year ; {| 
Aske me why I send to you | 
Th his primrose all bepearl’d with dew; | 
I straight will whisper in your ears, | 
lhe sweets of love are washt with teares, i 
| 
> > 
= o 
7 mM 
Aske me why this flow’r doth show | 
So yellow, green and sickly too; i| 
Aske me why the stalk is weak, 
And bending, yet it doth not breaks 
I must tell you, these discover 
tH7 
W 
/hat doubts and fears are in a Lover. 
THE HOLLY. 
BY SOUTHEY. 

é itellizence so wise. 
ht confound the A theist’s sophistries, 

