Primrose. ... Early Grief.
Reading edition
The Primrose is one of the earliest flowers of spring. It was anciently called Paralisos, the name of a beautiful youth, who died of grief for the loss of his betrothed Melicerta, and was metamorphosed by his parents into this flower, which has since been a favourite of the poets.
With fairest flowers, Whilst summer last, and I live here, Fidele, I’ll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack The flower that’s like thy face, pale Primrose. Cymbeline.
The Primrose pale is Nature’s meek and modest child. Balfour.
Nay, weep not while thy sun shines bright, And cloudless is thy day, While past and present joys unite To cheer thee on thy way; While fond companions round thee move, To youth and nature true, And friends whose looks of anxious love Thy every step pursue. Common-Place Book of Poetry.
The Primrose, tenant of the glade, Emblem of virtue in the shade. John Mayne.
Ask me why I send you here This firstling of the infant year; Ask me why I send to you This Primrose all bepearled with dew: I straight will whisper in your ears, The sweets of love are washed with tears. Ask me why this flower doth show So yellow, green, and sickly too; Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending, yet it doth not break: I must tell you these discover What doubts and fears are in a lover. Thomas Carew.
By the soft green light in the woody glade, On the banks of moss where thy childhood played, By the household tree through which thine eye First looked in love to the summer sky; By the dewy gleam, by the very breath Of the Primrose-tufts in the grass beneath, Upon thy heart there is laid a spell, Holy and precious—oh, guard it well! Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray From the first pure loves of its youth away; When the sullying breath of the world would come O’er the flowers it brought from its native home; Think thou again of the woody glade, Of the sound by the rustling ivy made; Think of the tree at thy father’s door, And the kindly spell shall have power once more. Mrs. Hemans.