Explore "The Land of Story-Books" by Robert Louis Stevenson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
At evening when the lamp is lit, / 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 forest track / Away behind the sofa back.
There, in the night, where none can spy, / All in my hunter's camp I lie, / And play at books 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 come to drink.
I see the others far away / As if in firelit camp they lay, / And I, like an Indian 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 Story-books.