The streamlet murmurs on its way;
Dew falls at set of sun;
The birds grow still at hush of day,
So sleep, my little one.
George Cooper
JULY NINTH
The child was happy;
Like a spirit of the air she moved,
Wayward, yet, by all who knew her,
For her tender heart beloved.
Wordsworth
JULY TENTH
My mother's voice, so forgotten yet so familiar,
so unutterably dear!
George Du Maurier
JULY ELEVENTH
But were another childhood-world my share,
I would be born a little sister there.
George Eliot
JULY TWELFTH
With what a look of proud command
Thou shakest, in thy little hand,
The coral rattle, with its silver bells,
Making a merry tune.
Longfellow
JULY THIRTEENTH