Perhaps, to strangers’ ears, that sounded strange-- But not to any Cornishman who knew How sea and land ran up into each other; And how, all round each wide, blue estuary, The flowers were blooming to the waters’ edge: You’d come on blue-bells like a sea of blue... But they would not be out for some while yet... ’Twould be primroses, blowing everywhere, Primroses, and primroses, and primroses... You’d never half-know what primroses were, Unless you’d seen them growing in the West; But, having seen, would never more forget. Why, every bank, and every lane and hedge Was just one blaze of yellow; and the smell, When the sun shone upon them, after wet... And his eyes sparkled, as he turned to sell A penny loaf and half-an-ounce of tea To a poor child, who waited patiently, With hacking cough that tore her hollow chest: And, as she went out, clutching tight the change, He muttered to himself: It’s strange, it’s strange That little ones should suffer so.... The light Had left his eyes: but, when he turned to me, I saw a flame leap in them, hot and bright. I’d like to take them all, he said, to-night! And, in the workshop, all through the next day, The anvils had another tune to play... Primroses, and primroses, and primroses: The bellows puffing out: It’s strange, it’s strange That little ones should suffer so... And now, my hammer, at a blow: I’d like to take them all, to-night! And, in the clouds of steam, and white-hot glow, I seemed to see primroses everywhere, Primroses, and primroses, and primroses.