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The moon has a face like the clock in the hall;
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She shines on thieves on the garden wall, |
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On streets and fields and harbour quays,
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And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.
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The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,
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The howling dog by the door of the house,
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The bat that lies in bed at noon,
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All love to be out by the light of the moon.
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But all of the things that belong to the day
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Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;
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And flowers and children close their eyes
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Till up in the morning the sun shall arise. |
