Primrose Flowers

I RODE through Eastnor woods to-day, And all the air did promise May, Did promise May till every tree Found voice to make much melody.

And oh, the primrose flowers! they glowed In thousands all along the road, Spreading their magic through the grove, Like countless hoards of treasure-trove.

I said, “Perchance ’tis God who threw These golden coins from out the blue, That with such bounty He might buy The thoughts of one so poor as I!”