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