In the Morning

Chapter 47: PRIMROSE.

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About This Book

A sequence of lyric poems that meditates on dawn, nature, and spiritual feeling, often deploying mountain, forest, and seaside imagery to probe grief, consolation, and renewal. Poems move among quiet pastorals, occasional and domestic verse, devotional hymns, translations, and lighter nonsense pieces, following seasonal rhythms and holiday observances. The voice shifts between elegiac introspection and bright affirmation, favoring sensory detail—birdsong, running water, sunlight—and a consolatory outlook that finds moral and emotional sustenance in simple scenes and ritual moments.

PRIMROSE.

In the meadow, cool and sweet,

Where the cowslips bathe their feet,

On the banks of Scottish burns,

Down among the nodding ferns,

Where the shadows come and go,

Cheerful Primrose loves to grow.

Little flower she is, and meek;

And if she could only speak,

I am sure her words would be

Whispered very timidly.

Skylark, hush your joyous singing,

Bonnie harebells, cease your ringing,

Listen, listen, drowsy bee,—

Is the Primrose calling thee?

Tiny rootlets white and brown,

Leaves as soft as cygnet’s down,

Fringèd petals, dainty pink,

Peeping o’er the burnie’s brink,—

That is Primrose, sweet and true,

And I love her—do not you?