THE HUMAN SEASONS FOUR Seasons fill the measure of the year; He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honeyed cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto Heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, John Keats [1795-1821j SOMETHING to live for came to the place, Something to die for maybe, Something to give even sorrow a grace, Cooing, and laughter, and gurgles, and cries, Chaos of hopes, and of raptures, and sighs, Last year, like all years, the rose and the thorn; But heaven stooped under the roof on the morn Harriet Prescott Spofford [1835 WHERE did you come from, baby dear? Where did you get those eyes so blue? What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Some of the starry spikes left in. Where did you get that little tear? To a New-born Baby Girl What makes your forehead so smooth and high? What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Where did you get this pearly ear? Where did you get those arms and hands? Feet, where did you come, you darling things? How did they all just come to be you? But how did you come to us, you dear? TO A NEW-BORN BABY GIRL AND did thy sapphire shallop slip And thou departing must have heard Now from the coasts of morning pale All breathing and aware thou art. 5 To let thee recognize the thrill Thy friends the angels rushing by. The worship of thy mother's eyes. I Grace Hazard Conkling [18 TO LITTLE RENÉE ON FIRST SEEING HER LYING IN HER CRADLE WHO is she here that now I see, of This dainty new divinity, Love's sister, Venus' child? She shows Her hues, white lily and pink rose, Ah, woe to men if Love should yield Even in play, for she would give I Sore wounds that none might take and live. Nor Leda's child and Jupiter's |