AUGUST TWENTY-SECOND

Childhood was the bough, where slumbered

Birds and blossoms many-numbered.

Longfellow

AUGUST TWENTY-THIRD

To the royal soul of a baby

One fairy realm is the earth.

Lucy Larcom

AUGUST TWENTY-FOURTH

So rounds he to a separate mind

From which clear memory may begin.

Tennyson

AUGUST TWENTY-FIFTH

I dream of those two little ones at play,

Making the threshold vocal with their cries,

Half tears, half laughter, mingled sport and strife,

Like two flowers blown together by the wind.

Victor Hugo

AUGUST TWENTY-SIXTH

That woman's toy,

A baby!

Mrs. Browning