The sun is not a-bed, when I <br />At night upon my pillow lie; <br />Still round the earth his way he takes, <br />And morning after morning makes. <br /> <br />While here at home, in shining day, <br />We round the sunny garden play, <br />Each little Indian sleepy-head <br />Is being kissed and put to bed. <br /> <br />And when at eve I rise from tea, <br />Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea; <br />And all the children in the west <br />Are getting up and being dressed.<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sun-travels/
