Poem by Thomas Carew

The Primrose

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. 

1. I Do Not Love Thee For That Fair
2. Epitaph for Maria Wentworth
3. A Divine Mistress
4. Persuasions to Joy
5. To a Lady That Desired I Would Love Her

Robert Herrick The Primrose ("Ask me why I send you here")

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