JANUARY TWENTY-EIGHTH
Now he thinks he 'll go to sleep:
I can see the shadows creep
Over his eyes in soft eclipse,
Over his brow and over his lips,
Out to his little finger tips:
Softly sinking down he goes!
Down he goes! Down he goes!
See! He is hushed in sweet repose!
J. G. Holland
JANUARY TWENTY-NINTH
To what shall I liken her smiling
Upon me, her kneeling lover?
How it leaped from her lips to her eyelids,
And dimpled her wholly over,
Till her outstretched hands smiled also
And I almost seem to see
The very heart of her mother
Sending sun, through her veins, to me.
Lowell
JANUARY THIRTIETH
Innocent child and snow-white flower,
Well are ye paired in your opening hour!
Reprinted from Bryant's Complete Poetical Works, by permission of D. Appleton & Company.
JANUARY THIRTY-FIRST
Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said,
For ye are living poems
And all the rest are dead.
Longfellow
FEBRUARY