Explore "The Sun Travels" by Robert Louis Stevenson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The sun is not a-bed, when I / At night upon my pillow lie; / Still round the earth his way he takes, / And morning after morning makes.
While here at home, in shining day, / We round the sunny garden play, / Each little Indian sleepy-head / Is being kissed and put to bed.
And when at eve I rise from tea, / Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea; / And all the children in the West / Are getting up and being dressed.