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 --

Rhodoras cheek is crimson,

Shes 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.