In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer quite the other way，
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree，
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you，
When all the sky is clear and blue，
And I should like so much to play，
To have to go to bed by day?