When the sun has left the hilltop and the daisy-fringe ifs furled,
When the birds from wood and meadow in their hidden nests are curled.
Then I think of all the babies that are sleeping the world.
There are babies in high lands and babies in the low,
There are pale one wrapped in furry-skins on the margin of the snow,
And brown ones naked in the isles where all the spices grow.
When the birds from wood and meadow in their hidden nests are curled.
Then I think of all the babies that are sleeping the world.
There are babies in high lands and babies in the low,
There are pale one wrapped in furry-skins on the margin of the snow,
And brown ones naked in the isles where all the spices grow.
by L Alma Tadema
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