SYMPATHY
Sometimes the world's asleep so soon
When all the winds are still,
That I can see the little moon
Come peeping o'er the hill.
It looks so small and scared and white,
The way I feel in bed
When I have just put out the light
And covered up my head.
It half seems wishing it had stayed,
And half creeps softly out.
"Dear moon," I say, "don't be afraid!
No bogies are about."
