Baby’s Age
She came with April blooms and showers; We count her little life by flowers. As buds the rose upon her cheek, We choose a flower for every week. A week of hyacinths, we say, And one of heart's-ease, ushered May; And then because two wishes met Upon the rose and violet— I liked the Beauty, Kate, the Nun— The violet and the rose count one. A week the apple marked with white; A week the lily scored in light; Red poppies closed May's happy moon, And tulips this blue week in June. Here end as yet the flowery links; To-day begins the week of pinks; But soon—so grave, and deep, and wise The meaning grows in Baby's eyes, So VERY deep for Baby's age— We think to date a week with sage!
Henry Timrod’s other poems:
