Even as a child that after pining
For the sweet absent mother, hears
Her voice, and round her neck, entwining
Young arms, vents all its soul in tears.
Schiller
SEPTEMBER SIXTH
Who takes the children on his knee,
And winds their curls about his hand.
Tennyson
SEPTEMBER SEVENTH
He's such a kicking, crowing, wakeful rogue,
He almost wears our lives out with his noise,
Just at day-dawning when we wish to sleep.
Jean Ingelow
SEPTEMBER EIGHTH
Happy little children, skies are bright above you,
Trees bend down to kiss you, breeze and blossom love you.
Lucy Larcom
SEPTEMBER NINTH
A baby's eyes ere speech begins;
Ere lips learn words or sighs,
Bless all things bright enough to win
A baby's eyes.
Swinburne
SEPTEMBER TENTH