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Poem	Whose are the little beds, I asked Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others smiled -- And no one made reply. Perhaps they did not hear, I said, I will inquire again -- Whose are the beds -- the tiny beds So thick upon the plain? 'Tis Daisy, in the shortest -- A little further on -- Nearest the door -- to wake the Ist -- Little Leontoden. 'Tis Iris, Sir, and Aster -- Anemone, and Bell -- Bartsia, in the blanket red -- And chubby Daffodil. Meanwhile, at many cradles Her busy foot she plied -- Humming the quaintest lullaby That ever rocked a child. Hush! Epigea wakens! The Crocus stirs her lids -- Rhodora's cheek is crimson, She's dreaming of the woods! Then turning from them reverent -- Their bedtime 'tis, she said -- The Bumble bees will wake them When April woods are red.
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