Whispered very timidly.
Skylark, hush your joyous singing,
Bonnie harebells, cease your ringing,
Listen, listen, drowsy bee,—
Is the Primrose calling thee?
Tiny rootlets white and brown,
Leaves as soft as cygnet’s down,
Fringèd petals, dainty pink,
Peeping o’er the burnie’s brink,—
That is Primrose, sweet and true,