The heart which plays in life its part,
With love elate, with loss forlorn,
Is still, through all, the child's pure heart
My Mother gave when I was born.
Sully-Prudhomme
JUNE FIFTEENTH
The hyacinthine boy, for whom
Morn well might break and April bloom.
Emerson
JUNE SIXTEENTH
And the mother spoils all her scolding with a
perfect shower of kisses.
Donald G. Mitchell
JUNE SEVENTEENTH
But not a child to kiss his lips,
Well-a-day!
And that's a difference sad to see
Betwixt my lord the king and me.
Charles Mackay
JUNE EIGHTEENTH
There falls not from the height of day,
When sunlight speaks and silence hears,
So sweet a psalm as children play
And sing each hour of all their years,
Each moment of their lovely way,
And know not how it thrills our ears.
Swinburne
JUNE NINETEENTH