
ilen 
d, 
Pon 

THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
THE EARLY PRIMROSE. 
Aske me why I send you here 
This firstling of the infant year ; 
Aske me why I send to you 
This primrose all bepearl’d with dew; 
I straight will whisper in your ears, 
The sweets of love are washt with teares. 
Aske me why this flow’r doth show 
So yellow, green and sickly too; 
Aske me why the stalk is weak, 
And bending, yet it doth not breaks 
i must tell you, these discover 
Whiat doubts and fears are in a Lover. 
THE HOLLY. 
BY SOUTHEY. 
© READER! hast thou ever stood to see 
The holly tree ? 
The eye that contemplates it well perceivea 
Its glossy leaves 
Order’d by an Intelligence so wise. 
As might confound the Atheist’s sophistries. 



