I do predict the evening primrose stays

Alive in some last blooms to make for you

(And me) a sudden remake of the rays

Of the late Sunday sun in their soft hue – 

As, when away, my memories re-create

Your eyes and face in my dull mind,

For there’s no separation can abate

The throng of loving thoughts I easily find. 

Though dwindling summer sees the primrose die

The fecund images of you that I

Enjoy, no length of time can send them thither. 

The primrose passes, your sweet being stays

The constant flower for now and all my days.

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