THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS

Come evening when the lamp is it ,
Around the fire my parents sit;
They sit at home and talk and sing,
And do not play at anything.

Now,with my little gun I crawl
All in the dark along the wall
And follow round the wall
Away behind the sofa back.

There in the night where none can spy,
All in my hunter's camp I lie
And play at book that I have read
Till it is time to go to bed.

These are the hills, these are the woods,
These are my starry solitudes,
And there the river by whose brink
The roaring lions came to drink.


I see the other far away
As if in firelit camp they lay
And I, like a roving scout,
Around their party prowled about

So when my nurse comes in for me
Home I return across the sea
And go to bed with backward looks
At my dear land of storybook...... thank you