Before This Little Gift Was Come Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson

in winter i get up at nigtht and dress by yellow candlelight in summer, quite the other way, i have to go to bed by day. 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 pastme in the street. and does it not seem heard to you, when all the sky is clear and blue, and i should like so much to play, to have to bed by day?