The Evening Primrose. A Poem

a EVenii^© ritnrose I ■51 O thou uncared-for child of plain and hill, Whose petals open in the twilight still, Thy life too fragile for the heat of day, Thou com'st at gentle eve in sweet array. Thy stamens of gold, thy petals of white, O they gleam in beauty throughout the night; Like the tender hue of the summer eves, Is the pink that comes on thy dying leaves. Of hours how few, ere their passing, one heeds, And thy life is ended amid the weeds! Thy fairness I view with wondering eyes — A secret untold, e'en unto the wise! HOPE.