In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow

candle-light.
In summer quite the other way,
I have to go

to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see
The birds

still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's

feet
Still going past me in the street.

And does it not

seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And

I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?