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My Primrose
by [?]

My sweet primrose with thy open face,
And with fringe-like leaves, without a trace
Of coarseness, either in flower or stem,
Among all my plants thou art the gem.

My lovely lilies soon disappear;
Thy bloom is constant through all the year;
In summer’s heat and winter’s cold,
Undimmed the light of thy floral gold.

Or if thy color be pink, or blue,
Or white as snow, thou art ever true;
My room is bright with thy smiling eyes,
And thy fragrance rare I also prize.

Thou hast done thy part, my little pet–
Let me keep thy roots forever wet,
But guard with care all thy tender leaves
And growing crown, which the earth-crust heaves.

Thou dost heaven-ward tend, aspiring high,
To kiss the stars in the vaulted sky,
And they look down from the azure blue,
My sweet primrose–they are smiling, too.