Page:Emily Dickinson Poems - second series (1891).djvu/135

Rh

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 bed-time 't is," she said; "The bumble-bees will wake them When April woods are red."