When once the sun sinks in the west, <br />And dewdrops pearl the evening's breast; <br />Almost as pale as moonbeams are, <br />Or its companionable star, <br />The evening primrose opes anew <br />Its delicate blossoms to the dew; <br />And, hermit-like, shunning the light, <br />Wastes its fair bloom upon the night, <br />Who, blindfold to its fond caresses, <br />Knows not the beauty it possesses; <br />Thus it blooms on while night is by; <br />When day looks out with open eye, <br />Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun, <br />It faints and withers and is gone.<br /><br />John Clare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-primrose/
