The sun is weary, for he ran So far and fast to-day; The birds are weary, for who sang So many songs as they? The bees and butterflies at last Are tired out, for just think too How many gardens through the day Their little wings have fluttered through. And so, as all tired people do, They've gone to lay their sleepy heads Deep, deep in warm and happy beds. The sun has shut his golden eye And gone to sleep beneath the sky, The birds and butterflies and bees Have all crept into flowers and trees, And all lie quiet, still as mice, Till morning comes--like father's voice. So Geoffrey, Owen, Phyllis, you Must sleep away till morning, too. Close little eyes, down little heads, And sleep--sleep--sleep in happy beds. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON A NICE CORRESPONDENT by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY SOLITUDE by ELLA WHEELER WILCOX THE PASSERS BY by AL-RADI BILLAH ON THE THRESHOLD by ASTLEY H. BALDWIN THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE by FRANCIS BEAUMONT |