The Pale Primrose
It is the early morning and the air
Quivers as though a spirit, passing there,
Fanned with his unseen wings the garden bed,
And light and sweetness from his pinions shed.
Grouped in the border, pale and faintly sweet,
The dear Primroses spring as though his feet
Pressing the earth had left a heavenly sign,
Tokens and hints of loveliness divine.
Humbly I bend upon the greening sod
To welcome thus the latest gift from God,
That was not yesterday and is to-day:
My soul illumined that was dull erstwhile,
As one who basks beneath a holy smile.
Scattering beauty on his onward way,
I seem to see the Spirit of the Flowers
Lightly adorning this old world of ours
Touching the brown mould gently, here and there,
That wakes to love his tender care;
Smiles in brave colors; breathes in rich perfume;
And welcomes Summer in a burst of bloom.
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