Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894 / Edinburgh / Scotland)
The Sun Travels
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 from tea,
Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea;
And all the children in the west
Are getting up and being dressed.
Robert Louis Stevenson's Other Poems
- A Good Boy
- A Good Play
- A Thought
- A Valentine's Song
- About The Sheltered Garden Ground
- Ad Magistrum Ludi
- Ad Martialem
- Ad Nepotem
- Ad Olum
- Ad Piscatorem
- Ad Quintilianum
- Ad Se Ipsum
- After Reading "Antony And Cleopatra"
- Air Of Diabelli's
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