Читать книгу Facts in Jingles - Winifred Sackville Stoner - Страница 19

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Of all the hours of day or night

Give me the twilight hour,

When little birds hide out of sight

And every sylvan bower

Is filled with their sweet good night song,

While darkness creeps apace

O'er all the bright blue sky along

And hides the sun's gold face.

That is the hour when Mother dear

Says, "Come, sweetheart," to me,

"And of the earth's great heroes hear

While sitting on my knee."

Upon her arm I rest my hand

And wondrous stories hear,

Until it's time to go to bed,

Tucked in by Mother dear.