Children of the morn,
play around for a while,
Your father's doleful;
the clouds his visage hide,
that his fair eye
he may align,
upon great glooms
of the grey high,
Play around
for just a while.
Children of the morn,
play around for a while,
Ponder upon his lap
the world that's nigh, 'bout which,
to your heart's content,
upon the ray plumes
enquire.
Skip, prick, prod and shine.
Children of the morn,
play around for a while,
and frame a ditty,
Upon the clouds a solemn line,
and watch him bear a comely smile,
Then,
Come see my day arise,
by the kiss of a silver rhyme.