The Children’s Hour
by: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(Born Feb. 27, 1807; died Mar. 24, 1882)
Between the dark and the daylight,
When the light 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 stairs,
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!
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 into the dungeon
In the round tower of my heart.
And there I will keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day.
Till the wall shall crumble to ruin,
And molder in dust away.
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