Nature
Primrose Leaves
From A Selection from the Poems of Michael Field (1923)
Not always with the spring its joyance closes;
It is midsummer, love, and while I pass
Among forgotten things —
Dry oak-sprays, faded mosses, woodbine strings
The large, clear leaves of primroses
Spread through the grass.
Not always with love's flower love perishes;
Long time our passion hath been dead, and still
About my heart doth thrive
A memory of thee so green, so live
A solemn power it cherishes
To bless and thrill.
Codex Note
From The Spectator (11.8.88), as marked in the 1923 Selection.
Cite this poem
MLA
Field, Michael. “Primrose Leaves.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/field_m/154/.
Chicago
Field, Michael. “Primrose Leaves.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/field_m/154/.
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