At evening when I go to bedI see the stars shine overhead
They are the little daisies white
That dot the meadow of the Night.
And often while I’m dreaming so,
Across the sky the moon will go;
It is a lady, sweet and fair,
Who comes to gather daisies there.
For, when at morning
There’s not a star left in the skies;
She’s picked them all and dropped them down
Into the meadows of the town…