Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
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THE PRIMROSE. |
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 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
THE PRIMROSE.
The milk-white blossoms of the thorn
Are waving o'er the pool,
Moved by the wind that breathes along
So sweetly and so cool.
The hawthorn clusters bloom above,
The primrose hides below,
And on the lonely passer by
A modest glance doth throw!
Are waving o'er the pool,
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So sweetly and so cool.
The hawthorn clusters bloom above,
The primrose hides below,
And on the lonely passer by
A modest glance doth throw!
The humble Primrose' bonnie face
I meet it everywhere;
Where other flowers disdain to bloom
It comes and nestles there.
Like God's own light, on every place
In glory it doth fall:
And where its dwelling-place is made,
It straightway hallows all!
I meet it everywhere;
Where other flowers disdain to bloom
It comes and nestles there.
Like God's own light, on every place
In glory it doth fall:
And where its dwelling-place is made,
It straightway hallows all!
Where'er the green-winged linnet sings
The Primrose bloometh lone;
And love it wins—deep love—from all
Who gaze its sweetness on.
On field-paths narrow, and in woods
We meet thee near and far,
Till thou becomest prized and loved,
As things familiar are!
The Primrose bloometh lone;
And love it wins—deep love—from all
Who gaze its sweetness on.
On field-paths narrow, and in woods
We meet thee near and far,
Till thou becomest prized and loved,
As things familiar are!
The stars are sweet at eventide,
But cold, and far away;
The clouds are saft in summer time,
But all unstable they:
The rose is rich—but pride of place
Is far too high for me—
God's simple common things I love—
My Primrose, such as thee!
But cold, and far away;
The clouds are saft in summer time,
But all unstable they:
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Is far too high for me—
God's simple common things I love—
My Primrose, such as thee!
I love the fireside of my home,
Because all sympathies,
The feelings fond of every day,
Around its circle rise.
And while admiring all the flowers
That Summer suns can give,
Within my heart the Primrose sweet,
In lowly love doth live!
Because all sympathies,
The feelings fond of every day,
Around its circle rise.
And while admiring all the flowers
That Summer suns can give,
Within my heart the Primrose sweet,
In lowly love doth live!
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |