POEM OF THE DAY

AFTER Wordsworth’s paean to the lesser celandine, another nature poet, John Clare, in the same period, hymned another little yellow flower that still delights its viewers.

from THE PRIMROSE BANK

’Tis spring; day roams with flowers Down every little lane,

And the night is hardly night

But a round of happy hours.

Yes, night is happy night, The sky is full of stars,

Like worlds in peace they lie Enjoying one delight.

The dew is on the thorn,

And the primrose underneath Just agen the mossy root Is smiling to the morn,

With its little brimming eye

And its yellow rims so pale

And its crimp and curdled leaf – Who can pass its beauties by

Without a look of love

When we tread the little path That skirts the woodland ride? Who can pass, nor look above

To Him who blesses earth

With these messengers of spring And decorates the fields

For our happiness and mirth?

I cannot: for I go

In my fancy once again

In the woods and little holts

Where the primrose used to grow.