The evening primrose

When once the sun sinks in the west,

And dew-drops pearl the Evening's breast;

Almost as pale as moonbeams are,

Or its companionable star,

The Evening Primrose opes anew

Its delicate blossoms to the dew;

And hermit-like, shunning the light,

Wastes its fair bloom upon the Night;

Who, blindfold to its fond caresses,

Knows not the beauty he possesses.

Thus it blooms on while Night is by;

When Day looks out with open eye,

'Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun,

It faints, and withers, and is gone.