Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupation,
That is known as the children's hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper and then a silence: 
Yet I know by their merry eyes,
They are plotting and planning together,
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall! 

They climb up into my turret 
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me,
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all? 

I have you fast in my fortress
And will not let you depart,
But put you down in the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away! 

Added: on June 8th, 2007 at 9:52 AM | Viewed: 10964 times | Comments (13)

Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Art)
Poem: The Children's Hour
Volume: Birds Of Passage

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