The Children's Hour
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Brahmin Poet
[Inspired By His Three Daughters]

Between the dark and the daylight,
  When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
  That is known as the children's hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
  The patter of little feet;
The sound of a door that is opened,
  And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
  Descending the rude hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegre,
  And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper and then a silence,
  Yet I know by their merry eyes,
They are plotting and planning together
  To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway;
  A sudden raid from the hall;
By three doors left unguarded
  They enter my castle wall.

They climb up my turret,
  O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
  They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
  Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen,
  In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine.

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
  Because you have sealed the wall,
Such an old moustache as I am
  Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
  And will not let you depart,
But put you into the dungeon,
  In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever—
  Yes, forever and a day;
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
  And moulder in dust away.

Source:  Our Favorites, By Mrs. General O.C. Maxwell, p.261

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