Classic Poem

Oh! why do they call thee the emblem of sadness,
Pale, sweet, modest primrose, ah! canst thou say why?
When our eager glance rests on thy fair soothing beauty,
And we willingly gather thy morsels of fragrance;
Is aught in that beauty to sadden the eye,
Or cast down our spirits, or call forth a sigh?

No, not when we plucked thee, as free and light-hearted
We joyously rambled through woodland and dell;
Quite content to exist in the joy of the moment,
All enrapt with our simple discernment of nature,
Uncritical, pleasing, heigho! we know well
The pleasures of childhood we grasped ere they fell.

Is part of thy mission, fair primrose, beloved,
To bring to remembrance the days of lost youth?
Oh, is this the lone cause of the mist o'er our vision,
And the tear trembling over the sad drooping eyelash?
Aye, utter it softly, but whisper the truth,
If grace may incline to a thing so uncouth.

But, blossom, we miss now the pride of thy beauty;
As resting in state on the däis of green,
Thou hast budded and bloomed in thy fair woodland palace
While distributing gifts in a measure unbounded,
Sweet miniature sovereign, thy kingdom we ween
Is spacious to boast such a shy little queen.

To-day we admire, although in thy dominion
To trace willing footsteps falls not to our share;
It may be that we traverse the streets of a city,
'Mid the whirl of its turmoil and business-like pressure,
And read thy sweet message displayed even there;
What wonder, that reading, a sigh moves the air?

The sadness is transient, a fleeting emotion,
But not the less truly a genuine regret;
Those the brightest and best of the days of our spring-time,
With the years are now passing for once and for ever;
Ah! primrose, their memory we would not forget,
And thus for remembrance, fair flow'r, we have met.