Gedichte - Naturlyrik - Flora Fauna

“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?” "’T`is daisy in the shortest; A little farther 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.” 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.” Emily Dickinson, 1830-1886