" It was Moonlight Land and Past-ten-o'clock Land and we were in it and of it. "—KENNETH GRAHAM.
There's a lovely land that is all your own,
If your years but number ten,
Where the cherryblossom's ever in flower,
And found in "Past-ten-o'clock Glen."
There's a river with musical water-falls,
You paddle as long as you please,
And the daisies don't die as you pick them,
When found on "Past-ten-o'clock Leas."
And the rivulet leads to a harbour,
Full of the quaintest of ships,
One wish will transport you to China,
Or other "Past-ten-o'clock Trips."
Away in dim mountains of amber,
Which drop sheer down to the waves,
Fierce brigands, be-weaponed and ear-ringed,
Live in "Past-ten-o'clock Caves."
O! the folk understand you and love you,
You never can do any wrong—
You can shoot the cat with a catapult,
Or shout the "Past-ten-o'clock Song."
You can play you are really an otter,
And get as wet as you like;
You can lie in wait as a Redskin does,
In a deep "Past-ten-o'clock Dyke."
It's a lovely land that is all your own,
If you're only ten years old,
But when you are more, you are apt to forget
"Past-Ten-o'clock-Dreams of Gold!"
BARDEN FELL, WHARFEDALE.