Thomas Carew

(1594 - 1640 / London / England)

The Primrose - Poem by Thomas Carew

Ask me why I send you here
The firstling of the infant year;
Ask me why I send to you
This primrose all bepearled with dew:
I straight will whisper in your ears,
The sweets of love are washed with tears.
Ask me why this flower doth show
So yellow, green, and sickly too;
Ask me why the stalk is weak
And bending, yet it doth not break:
I must tell you, these discover
What doubts and fears are in a lover.


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Read poems about / on: flower, green, love, fear



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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