Between the dark and the daylight
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as The Children's Hour.
H. W. Longfellow
THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS
At evening, when the lamp is lit,
Around the fire my parents sit;
They sit at home, and talk and sing,
And do not play at anything.
Now, with my little gun, I crawl
All in the dark along the wall,
And follow round the forest track
Away behind the sofa back.
There in the night, where none can spy,
All in my hunter's camp I lie,
And play at books that I have read,
Till it is time to go to bed.
These are the hills, these are the woods,
These are my starry solitudes;
And there the river, by whose brink
The roaring lions come to drink.
I see the others far away,
As if in firelit camp they lay;
And I, like to an Indian scout,
Around their party prowled about.
So, when my nurse comes in for me,
Home I return across the sea;
And go to bed with backward looks
To my dear land of Story-books.
-Robert Louis Stevenson
Pathways to Reading Book III
New Brunswick Series
