Poem by Henry Timrod

Baby's Age

She came with April blooms and showers;
We count her little life by flowers.
As buds the rose upon her cheek,
We choose a flower for every week.
A week of hyacinths, we say,
And one of heart's-ease, ushered May;
And then because two wishes met
Upon the rose and violet—
I liked the Beauty, Kate, the Nun—
The violet and the rose count one.
A week the apple marked with white;
A week the lily scored in light;
Red poppies closed May's happy moon,
And tulips this blue week in June.
Here end as yet the flowery links;
To-day begins the week of pinks;
But soon—so grave, and deep, and wise
The meaning grows in Baby's eyes,
So VERY deep for Baby's age—
We think to date a week with sage!

1. Hymn Sung at the Consecration of Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S.C.
2. Too Long, O Spirit of Storm
3. Hymn Sung at an Anniversary of the Asylum of Orphans at Charleston
4. Lines to R. L.
5. A Cry to Arms

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