ALICE IN WONDERLAND

  All in the golden afternoon
  Full leisurely we glide;
  For both our oars, with little skill,
  By little arms are plied,
  While little hands make vain pretence
  Our wanderings to guide.
  Ah, cruel Three!  In such an hour
  Beneath such dreamy weather,
  To beg a tale of breath too weak
  To stir the tiniest feather!
  Yet what can one poor voice avail
  Against three tongues together?
  Imperious Prima flashes forth
  Her edict to begin it
  In gentler tone Secunda hopes
    "There will be nonsense in it!"
  While Tertia interrupts the tale
  Not more than once a minute.
  Anon, to sudden silence won,
  In fancy they pursue
  The dream-child moving through a land
  Of wonders wild and new,
  In friendly chat with bird or beast
  And half believe it true.
  And ever, as the story drained
  And faintly strove that weary one
  The rest next time – It is next time!
  The happy voices cry.
  Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
  Thus slowly, one by one,
  Its quaint events were hammered out
  And now the tale is done,
  And home we steer, a merry crew,
  Beneath the setting sun.
  Alice!  a childish story take,
  And with a gentle hand
  Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined
  In Memory's mystic band,
  Like pilgrim's wither'd wreath of flowers
  Pluck'd in a far-off land.