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FLORAL POESY. 
No, ’tis alone the pang to part 
With those we love, that rends the heart ; 
That agony to save, 
Some nameless cause in nature strives ; 
Like thee in shades, our hope revives, 
And blossoms in the grave. 
TO PRIMROSES. 
ROBERT HERRICK. 
Way do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears 
Speak grief in you, 
Who were but born 
Just as the modest morn 
Teemed her refreshing dew ? 
Alas ! you have not known that shower 
That mars a flower ; 
Nor felt the unkind 
Breath of a blasting wind ; 
Nor are ye worn with years ; 
Or warped as we 
Who think it strange to see 
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, 
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue. 
Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known 
The reason why 
Ye droop and weep ; 
Ts it for want of sleep, 
Or childish lullaby ? 
Or that ye have not seen as yet 
The violet ? 
Or brought a kiss 
From that sweetheart to this ? 

