A Primrose Hill
A mount of spring with a long gentle swell
Adorned in morning freshness is upon thee
On this green heath verdant primrose spread
The early blooms of heaven slumber in mist
A slight gale drives the white vapors away
Revealing sudden gleaming opening vista’s
Of blossomed hedges, now seen, now lost
They seem as moving pictures passing by
Silence abounds except on top of the swell
Stirring by passing gusts gnarled aged trees
There rustling tops utter voices not known
Like spirits in a dream on the hill of spring
Loved in their loneliness by all that do love
Flowers dressed, colored glories to behold
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