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PRIMROSES
[ Also see Flowers Plants ]

Ring-ting! I wish I were a primrose,
  A bright yellow primrose blowing in the spring!
    The stooping boughs above me,
      The wandering bee to love me,
        The fern and moss to creep across,
          And the elm-tree for our king!
      - William Allingham, Wishing--A Child's Song

The primrose banks now fair!
      - Robert Burns,
        My Chloris, Mark How Green the Groves

"I could have brought you some primroses, but I do not like to mix violets with anything."
  "They say primroses make a capital salad," said Lord St. Jerome.
      - Benjamin Disraeli, 1st Earl of Beaconsfield,
        Lothair (ch. XIII)

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
  Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
      - Oliver Goldsmith, The Deserted Village
         (l. 329)

Why doe ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears
  Speak griefe in you,
    Who were but borne
      Just as the modest morne
        Teemed her refreshing dew?
      - Robert Herrick, To Primroses

A tuft of evening primroses,
  O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes;
    O'er which it well might take a pleasant sleep,
      But that 'tis ever startled by the leap
        Of buds into ripe flowers.
      - John Keats (1),
        I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill

Bountiful Primroses,
  With outspread heart that needs the rough leaves' care.
      - George MacDonald, Wild Flowers

Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire!
  Whose modest form, so delicately fine,
    Was nursed in whirling storms,
      And cradled in the winds.
        Thee when young spring first question'd winter's sway,
          And dared the sturdy bluster to the fight,
            Thee on his bank he threw
              To mark his victory.
      - Henry Kirke White, To an Early Primrose

The Primrose for a veil had spread
  The largest of her upright leaves;
    And thus for purposes benign,
      A simple flower deceives.
      - William Wordsworth, A Wren's Nest

Primroses, the Spring may love them;
  Summer knows but little of them.
      - William Wordsworth, Foresight

A primrose by a river's brim,
  A yellow primrose was to him,
    And it was nothing more.
      - William Wordsworth, Peter Bell
         (pt. I, st. 12)

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Last Revised: 2018 December 9


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