 | The Five Notions |  |
81
PRIMROSE DAY
“When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould.”
“'Tis the nineteenth of April,” he said, “as Old Moore discloses.
And how in the name of goodness am I going to pin on these primroses?”
G. B. Sh*w.
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould.”
“'Tis the nineteenth of April,” he said, “as Old Moore discloses.
And how in the name of goodness am I going to pin on these primroses?”
O patient and pallid, with petals
Of the shade of the sand of the sea,
I like you much better than nettles—
You are flowers to me!
A. C. Sw*nb*rne.
Of the shade of the sand of the sea,
I like you much better than nettles—
You are flowers to me!
82
The British Lion sits and smiles,
And shouts: “'Fore Heaven, we cannot yield!”
While English lanes for miles and miles
Grow yellow for our Beaconsfield.
Alfr*d A*st*n.
And shouts: “'Fore Heaven, we cannot yield!”
While English lanes for miles and miles
Grow yellow for our Beaconsfield.
A primrose by the river's brim
A yellow primrose was to Tim,
And plaguey little more.
T. M. H**ly.
A yellow primrose was to Tim,
And plaguey little more.
Primroses
That come from Kent in early trains, and take
The British chest with beauty.
O. S**m*n.
That come from Kent in early trains, and take
The British chest with beauty.
I, Hoobah, the Prince of my land, black-haired and flat-footed,
Out of the mountains of Moobah beheld them, beheld them;
Yellow were they, quite yellow—as clay at the bottom of Doobah.
But between you and me and Mr. George Moore and the gate-post,
They have really nothing to do with the great Celtic movement:
Wherefore, why should I write about them at all at all?
W. B. Y**ts.
Out of the mountains of Moobah beheld them, beheld them;
Yellow were they, quite yellow—as clay at the bottom of Doobah.
83
They have really nothing to do with the great Celtic movement:
Wherefore, why should I write about them at all at all?
Take up the White Man's burden,
We've got both ships and men;
We really lick creation
From here to Oregen.
Fasten 'em to your lapel
Before you go to lunch—
Old Benny's favourite flower,
A penny for a bunch!
R. K.
We've got both ships and men;
We really lick creation
From here to Oregen.
Fasten 'em to your lapel
Before you go to lunch—
Old Benny's favourite flower,
A penny for a bunch!
The idea is very pretty. But I preferred 'em in a salad.
Benjamin.
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