The new minnesinger and other poems By Arran Leigh [i.e. K. H. Bradley and E. E. Cooper] |
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THE EVENING PRIMROSE.
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 | The new minnesinger and other poems |  |
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THE EVENING PRIMROSE.
The day had been hot, and all weary
I turn'd down the shady walk;
I paused by the blooming flower-bed,
But not with the flowers to talk;
I turn'd down the shady walk;
I paused by the blooming flower-bed,
But not with the flowers to talk;
I look'd not for word or welcome;
The dews had begun to fall;
And I knew that to simple flowerets
The dew is a curfew call.
The dews had begun to fall;
And I knew that to simple flowerets
The dew is a curfew call.
So lone down the shady border
I turn'd away from the heat,
Nor knew that the evening primrose
Was waiting my steps to greet.
I turn'd away from the heat,
Nor knew that the evening primrose
Was waiting my steps to greet.
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The full June flowers were sleeping
As sick of the summer glare;
But she of the smile new-lighted,
And the morning face was there.
As sick of the summer glare;
But she of the smile new-lighted,
And the morning face was there.
And joyous I sat beside her,
Around her in love I leant,
For I felt she was sister-hearted
To the lonely life I spent.
Around her in love I leant,
For I felt she was sister-hearted
To the lonely life I spent.
From the garish world close-petall'd,
And sheltering from the sun,
She opens to skiey converse
When the weary day is done.
And sheltering from the sun,
She opens to skiey converse
When the weary day is done.
She parteth her golden petals,
For joy of the first lone star;
And a blest communion seeketh
With the silent and the far.
For joy of the first lone star;
And a blest communion seeketh
With the silent and the far.
Oh, like to the evening primrose
Is this quiet muse of mine!
She keeps close-shut from the sunlight,
But lo, with the day's decline,
Is this quiet muse of mine!
She keeps close-shut from the sunlight,
But lo, with the day's decline,
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She opens her paly blossoms
To the solemn evening skies;
And glad, as 'neath lover's glances,
'Neath the deep'ning heaven lies.
To the solemn evening skies;
And glad, as 'neath lover's glances,
'Neath the deep'ning heaven lies.
Aye loving the folding shadows,
And the lonesome starry shine,
Most like to the evening primrose
Is this quiet muse of mine.
And the lonesome starry shine,
Most like to the evening primrose
Is this quiet muse of mine.
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