The sun is not a-bed, when I At night upon my pillow lie; Still round the earth his way he takes, And morning after morning makes. While here at home, in shining day, We round the sunny garden play, Each little Indian sleepy-head Is being kissed and put to bed. And when at eve I rise form tea, Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea; And all the children in the west Are getting up and being dressed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE REWARD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON PATIENCE TAUGHT BY NATURE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE DAFT DAYS by ROBERT FERGUSSON THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER by FRANCIS SCOTT KEY A CHRISTMAS CAROL by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE FLITCH OF BACON: MY OLD COMPLAINT (ITS CAUSE AND CURE) by WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH A VISION OF CHILDREN by THOMAS ASHE LINES TO ROBERT ALDERSON UPON HIS DEPARTURE FROM WARRINGTON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |