AUGUST TWELFTH
Crazy with laughter and babble and earth's new wine,
Now that the flower of a year and a half are thine,
O, little blossom, O mine and of mine!
Glorious poet who never has written a line!
Tennyson
AUGUST THIRTEENTH
On the lap
Of his mother, as he stands
Stretching out his tiny hands,
And his little lips the while,
Half-open, on his father smile.
Catullus
AUGUST FOURTEENTH
But the breezes of childish laughter,
And the light in a baby's eye,
To the homeliest road bring a freshness
As free as the blue of the sky.
Lucy Larcom
AUGUST FIFTEENTH
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er.
Campbell
AUGUST SIXTEENTH
For all its warm, sweet body seems one smile
And mere men's love too vile to meet it.
Swinburne