SEPTEMBER FIFTEENTH
What note of song have we
Fit for the birds and thee
Fair nestling couched beneath the mother-dove?
Swinburne
SEPTEMBER SIXTEENTH
Thou closely clingest to thy mother's arms,
Nestling thy little face in that fond breast
Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest!
Man's breathing miniature.
S. T. Coleridge
SEPTEMBER SEVENTEENTH
A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near,
And ever restless feet of one, who now
Gathers the blossoms of her fourth bright year.
Bryant
Reprinted from Bryant's Complete Poetical Works by permission of D. Appleton & Co.
SEPTEMBER EIGHTEENTH
Once was she wealthy, with small cares,
And small hands clinging to her knees.
Lizette Woodworth Reese
SEPTEMBER NINETEENTH