Robert Herrick speaks to a cluster of dew-soaked primroses as if they were weeping infants. He marvels that such fresh, just-born things could already know sadness, since they’ve never been bruised by rain, harsh winds, or age. He even playfully guesses that maybe they miss a lullaby or a lover’s kiss—childlike reasons for tears. But those possibilities are gently dismissed. The dew-drops turn into a quiet lesson: all growth, whether of the greatest or humblest things, begins in sorrow and is brought into the world with tears. The speaker’s tone is tender and wondering, moving from affectionate teasing toward a soft melancholy. The poem creates a mood of fragile beauty, as though the morning itself is grieving for what it can’t yet name.
TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW — Summary
Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born just as the modest morn Teem'd her refreshing dew? Alas, you have not known that shower That mars a flower, Nor felt th' unkind Breath of a blasting wind, Nor are ye worn with years; Or warp'd as we, Who think it strange to see, Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue.
Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known The reason why Ye droop and weep; Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby? Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet? Or brought a kiss From that Sweet-heart, to this? --No, no, this sorrow shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture read, That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.