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POETRY OF FLOWERS. 219 

THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 
BY BERNARD BARTON. 
Farr flower, that shunn’st the glare of day, 
Yet levest to open, meekly bold. 
To evening hues of sober gray. 
Thy cup of paly gold; 
Be thine the offering, owing long, 
To thee, and to this Bene hour. 
Of the brief tributary son 
Though transient as thy ‘flower. 
I 
— 
ove to watch at silent eve 
Thy scatter'd blossoms’ lonely light ; 
And have my inmost heart receive 
he influence of that sight. 
I love, at such an hour, to mark, 
Their beauty greet the light breeze chill, 
And shine, ’mid shadows gathering dark, 
The garden’s glory st tl. 
For such, ’tis sweet to think the while, 
When cares and griefs the breast invade 
In friendship’s animating smile, 
In sorrow’s dark’ning shade. 
1S 

