 | "The Sleeping Flowers" |  |
616
THE SLEEPING FLOWERS.
BY EMILY DICKINSON.
"WHOSE are the little beds," I asked,
"Which in the valleys lie?"
Some shook their heads, and others smiled,
And no one made reply.
"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?"
I will inquire again.
"Whose are the beds—the tiny beds
So thick upon the plain?"
"'T is daisy in the shortest;
A little further on,—
Nearest the door, to wake the first,—
Little leontodon.
A little further on,—
Nearest the door, to wake the first,—
Little leontodon.
"'T is iris, sir, and aster,
Anemone and bell;
Batschia in the blanket red,
And chubby daffodil."
Anemone and bell;
Batschia in the blanket red,
And chubby daffodil."
Meanwhile, at many cradles,
She rocked and gently smiled,
Humming the quaintest lullaby
That ever soothed a child.
She rocked and gently smiled,
Humming the quaintest lullaby
That ever soothed a child.
"Hush! Epigea wakens!
The crocus stirs her hood,—
Rhodora's cheek is crimson,
She's dreaming of the wood."
The crocus stirs her hood,—
Rhodora's cheek is crimson,
She's dreaming of the wood."
Then turning from them, reverent,
"Their bedtime 't is," she said;
"The bumblebees will wake them
When April woods are red."
"Their bedtime 't is," she said;
"The bumblebees will wake them
When April woods are red."
| "The Sleeping Flowers" | |