Primrose

Upon a bank I sat, a child made seer

Of one small primrose flowering in my mind.

Better than wealth it is, I said, to find

One small page of Truth's manuscript made clear.

I looked at Christ transfigured without fear—

The light was very beautiful and kind,

And where the Holy Ghost in flame had signed

I read it through the lenses of a tear.

And then my sight grew dim, I could not see

The primrose that had lighted me to Heaven,

And there was but the shadow of a tree

Ghostly among the stars.  The years that pass

Like tired soldiers nevermore have given

Moments to see wonders in the grass.