NOVEMBER SEVENTEENTH
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison house begin to close
Upon the growing boy.
Wordsworth
NOVEMBER EIGHTEENTH
When children are happy and lonely and good,
The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.
Robert Louis Stevenson
NOVEMBER NINETEENTH
And then, he sometimes interwove
Fond thoughts about a father's love,
"For there," said he, "are spun
Around the heart such tender ties,
That our own children to our eyes
Are dearer than the sun."
Wordsworth
NOVEMBER TWENTIETH
May we presume to say that at thy birth,
New joy was sprung in Heaven, as well as here on earth.
Dryden
NOVEMBER TWENTY-FIRST
Dear five-years-old befriends my passion,
And I may write till she can spell.
Matthew Prior