Robert Louis Stevenson

(1850-1894 / Edinburgh / Scotland)

The Sun Travels - Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson

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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Read poems about / on: children, home, sea, sun, night, rose, kiss, child

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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