When one the sun sinks in the west,
And dewdrops pearl the evening's breast;
Almost as pale as moonbeams are,
Or its companionable star,
The evening primrose opens anew
Its delicate blossoms to the dew;
And hermit-like, shunning the light,
Wastes its fair bloom uopn the night.
Who, blindfold to its fond caresses,
Knows not the beauty it possess;
Thus it blooms on while night is by,
When day looks out with open eye,
Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun,
It faints and withers and is gone.