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?