Cheeks as soft as July peaches; Lips whose dewy scarlet teaches Poppies paleness; round large eyes Ever great with new surprise; Minutes filled with shadeless gladness; Minutes just as brimmed with sadness; Happy smiles and wailing cries; Crows, and laughs, and tearful eyes; Lights and shadows, swifter born Than on wind-swept autumn corn; Ever some new tiny notion, Making every limb all motion; Catchings up of legs and arms; Throwings back and small alarms; Clutching fingers; straightening jerks; Twining feet whose each toe works; Kickings up and straining risings; Mother’s ever new surprisings; Hands all wants and looks all wonder At all things the heavens under; Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings That have more of love than lovings; Mischiefs done with such a winning Archness that we prize such sinning; Breakings dire of plates and glasses; Graspings small at all that passes; Pullings off of all that ’s able To be caught from tray or table; Silences,—small meditations Deep as thoughts of cares for nations; Breaking into wisest speeches In a tongue that nothing teaches; All the thoughts of whose possessing Must be wooed to light by guessing; Slumbers,—such sweet angel-seemings That we ’d ever have such dreamings; Till from sleep we see thee breaking, And we ’d always have thee waking; Wealth for which we know no measure; Pleasure high above all pleasure; Gladness brimming over gladness; Joy in care; delight in sadness; Loveliness beyond completeness; Sweetness distancing all sweetness; Beauty all that beauty may be;— That ’s May Bennett; that ’s my baby.
Baby May
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