A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Sun's 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.

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