Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
The Childrens HourHenry Wadsworth Longfellow (18071882)
B
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day’s occupations
That is known as the children’s hour.
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.
Descending the broad hall-stair,
Grave Alice and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.
A sudden raid from the hall:
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall.
O’er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me:
They seem to be everywhere.
Their arms about me intwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine.
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all?
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeons
In the Round Tower of my heart.
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away.