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The playmate hours.

Dawn lingers silent in the shade of night,
Till on the gloaming Baby's laughter rings.
Then smiling Day awakes, and open flings
Her golden doors, to speed the shining flight

Of restless hours, gay children of the light.
Each eager playfellow to Baby brings
Some separate gift,--a flitting bird that sings
With her; a waving branch of berries bright;

A heap of rustling leaves; each trifle cheers
This joyous little life but just begun.
No weary hour to her brings sighs or tears;

And when the shadows warn the loitering sun,
With blossoms in her hands, untouched by fears,
She softly falls asleep, and day is done.

M. T. H.

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