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.