"PAST-TEN-O'CLOCK-LAND"
Reading edition
"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.