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!

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Henry Timrod

Henry Timrod was an American poet, often called the poet laureate of the Confederacy. more…

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"Baby's Age by Henry Timrod" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2017. Web. 13 Dec. 2017. <http://www.poetry.net/poem/18219>.

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