MY PRIMROSE

My sweet primrose with thy open face,

And with fringe-like leaves, without a trace

Of coarseness, either in flower or stem,

Among all my plants thou art the gem.

My lovely lilies soon disappear;

Thy bloom is constant through all the year;

In summer's heat and winter's cold,

Undimmed the light of thy floral gold.

Or if thy color be pink, or blue,

Or white as snow, thou art ever true;

My room is bright with thy smiling eyes,

And thy fragrance rare I also prize.

Thou hast done thy part, my little pet —

Let me keep thy roots forever wet,

But guard with care all thy tender leaves

And growing crown, which the earth-crust heaves.

Thou dost heaven-ward tend, aspiring high,

To kiss the stars in the vaulted sky,

And they look down from the azure blue,

My sweet primrose — they are smiling, too.