Reference > Quotations > Hoyt & Roberts, comps. > Hoyt’s New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations
Hoyt & Roberts, comps.  Hoyt’s New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations.  1922.
Primrose (Primula)
Ring-ting! I wish I were a primrose,
  A bright yellow primrose blowing in the spring!
    The stooping boughs above me,
    The wandering bee to love me,
The fern and moss to creep across,
  And the elm-tree for our king!
        Wm. Allingham—Wishing. A Child’s Song.
The primrose banks how fair!
        BurnsMy Chloris, Mark How Green the Groves.
  “I could have brought you some primroses, but I do not like to mix violets with anything.”
  “They say primroses make a capital salad,” said Lord St. Jerome.
        Benj. Disraeli—Lothair. Ch. XIII.
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
        Goldsmith—The Deserted Village. L. 329.
Why doe ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears
  Speak griefe in you,
    Who were but borne
    Just as the modest morne
Teemed her refreshing dew?
        Herrick—To Primroses.
          A tuft of evening primroses,
O’er which the mind may hover till it dozes;
  O’er which it well might take a pleasant sleep,
  But that ’tis ever startled by the leap
Of buds into ripe flowers.
        Keats—I Stood Tiptoe Upon a Little Hill.
Bountiful Primroses,
  With outspread heart that needs the rough leaves’ care.
        George MacDonald—Wild Flowers.
Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire!
Whose modest form, so delicately fine,
    Was nursed in whirling storms,
    And cradled in the winds.
Thee when young spring first question’d winter’s sway,
And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight,
    Thee on his bank he threw
    To mark his victory.
        Henry irke White—To an Early Primrose.
A primrose by a river’s brim,
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.
        WordsworthPeter Bell. Pt. I. St. 12.
Primroses, the Spring may love them;
Summer knows but little of them.
The Primrose for a veil had spread
  The largest of her upright leaves;
And thus for purposes benign,
  A simple flower deceives.
        WordsworthA Wren’s Nest.

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