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.