A Child's Garden of Verses

The rain is falling all around, It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here, And on the ships at sea.

To My Mother You too, my mother, read my rhymes For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once more The little feet along the floor.

In winter I get up at night, and dress by yellow candlelight, In summer, quite the other day, I have to go to bed by day

All by myself I have to go, With none to tell me what to do— All alone beside the streams And up the mountain-sides of dreams.

Try as I like to find the way, I never can get back by day, Nor can remember plain and clear The curious music that I hear.

The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.

Years may go by, and the wheel in the river Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day, Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever Long after all of the boys are away. Home for the Indies and home from the ocean, Heroes and soldiers we all will come home; Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion, Turning and churning that river to foam. You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled, I with your marble of Saturday last, Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled, Here we shall meet and remember the past.

Time to Rise A birdie with a yellow bill Hopped upon my window sill, Cocked his shining eye and said: "Ain't you 'shamed, you sleepy-head!