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.