  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, |
|
