In winter I get up at night 
And dress by yellow candle-light. 
    In summer quite the other way, 
    I have to go to bed by day. 

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I have to go to bed and see 
The birds still hopping on the tree, 
    Or hear the grown-up people's feet 
    Still going past me in the street. 

 

And does it not seem hard to you, 
When all the sky is clear and blue, 
    And I should like so much to play, 
    To have to go to bed by day?

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* See also my poem which shadows 

        this poem:  'Poem of the Seasons'

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