THE CHICKIEBIDS.
Reading edition
The chickiebids are in their nest Overhead,— Dimpled shapes of rosy rest Curled a-bed. Night has sung her spell, and thrown Her dark net round Their heads; their pearly ears have grown Deaf to all other sound.
O of me how you are part, Babies mine! Your hearts are children of my heart. The inner sign Of my eyes lurks in your eyes, And your soul, That so brims with Paradise, Stirs what wonders roll Unsuspected in myself, Who had thought Life half death, till childhood's elf— Sign of angels men shall be— Came and taught A youth eterne within futurity.