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Best Famous Lewis Carroll Poems

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by Lewis Carroll | |

Jabberwocky

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves 
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: 
All mimsy were the borogoves, 
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!" He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood a while in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One two! One two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back.
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.


by Lewis Carroll | |

Theme with Variations

 I never loved a dear Gazelle-- 
Nor anything that cost me much: 
High prices profit those who sell, 
But why should I be fond of such? 
To glad me with his soft black eye 
My son comes trotting home from school; 
He's had a fight but can't tell why-- 
He always was a little fool! 

But, when he came to know me well, 
He kicked me out, her testy Sire: 
And when I stained my hair, that Belle 
Might note the change and this admire 

And love me, it was sure to dye 
A muddy green, or staring blue: 
Whilst one might trace, with half an eye, 
The still triumphant carrot through


by Lewis Carroll | |

Hiawathas photographing ( Part IV)

 Next to him the eldest daughter:
She suggested very little
Only asked if he would take her
With her look of 'passive beauty-'



Her idea of passive beauty
Was a squinting of the left-eye,
Was a drooping of the right-eye,
Was a smile that went up Sideways
To the corner of the nostrils.
Hiawatha, when she asked him Took no notice of the question Looked as if he hadn't heared it; But, when pointedly appealed to, Smiled in his peculiar manner, Coughed and said it 'didn't matter,' Bit his lip and changed the subject.
Nor in this was he mistaken, As the picture failed completely.
So in turn the other sisters.


More great poems below...

by Lewis Carroll | |

Punctuality

 Man Naturally loves delay,
And to procrastinate;
Business put off from day to day
Is always done to late.
Let ever hour be in its place Firm fixed, nor loosely shift, And well enjoy the vacant space, As though a birthday gift.
And when the hour arrives, be there, Where'er that "there" may be; Uncleanly hands or ruffled hair Let no one ever see.
If dinner at "half-past" be placed, At "half-past" then be dressed.
If at a "quarter-past" make haste To be down with the rest Better to be before you time, Than e're to be behind; To open the door while strikes the chime, That shows a punctual mind.
Moral: Let punctuality and care Seize every flitting hour, So shalt thou cull a floweret fair, E'en from a fading flower


by Lewis Carroll | |

Hiawathas photographing ( Part I )

 FROM his shoulder Hiawatha 
Took the camera of rosewood, 
Made of sliding, folding rosewood; 
Neatly put it all together.
In its case it lay compactly, Folded into nearly nothing; But he opened out the hinges, Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges, Till it looked all squares and oblongs, Like a complicated figure In the Second Book of Euclid.
This he perched upon a tripod - Crouched beneath its dusky cover - Stretched his hand, enforcing silence - Said "Be motionless, I beg you!" Mystic, awful was the process.
All the family in order Sat before him for their pictures: Each in turn, as he was taken, Volunteered his own suggestions, His ingenious suggestions.


by Lewis Carroll | |

Hiawathas photographing ( Part II )

 First the Governor, the Father: 
He suggested velvet curtains 
looped about a massy pillar; 
And the corner of a table, 
Of a rosewood dining-table.
He would hold a scroll of something, Hold it firmly in his left-hand; He would keep his right-hand buried (Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat; He would contemplate the distance With a look of pensive meaning, As of ducks that die in tempests.
Grand, heroic was the notion: Yet the picture failed entirely: Failed, because he moved a little, Moved, because he couldn't help it.
Next, his better half took courage; She would have her picture taken.
She came dressed beyond description, Dressed in jewels and in satin Far too gorgeous for an empress.
Gracefully she sat down sideways, With a simper scarcely human, Holding in her hand a bouquet Rather larger than a cabbage.
All the while that she was sitting, Still the lady chattered, chattered, Like a monkey in the forest.
"Am I sitting still ?" she asked him.
"Is my face enough in profile? Shall I hold the bouquet higher? Will it come into the picture?" And the picture failed completely.


by Lewis Carroll | |

Hiawathas photographing ( Part V )

 Last, the youngest son was taken:
Very rough and thick his hair was,
Very round and red his face was,
Very dusty was his jacket,
Very fidgety his manner.
And his overbearing sisters Called him names he disapproved of: Called him Johnny, 'Daddy's Darling,' Called him Jacky, 'Scrubby School-boy.
' And, so awful was the picture, In comparison the others Seemed, to one's bewildered fancy, To have partially succeeded.
Finally my Hiawatha Tumbled all the tribe together, ('Grouped' is not the right expression), And, as happy chance would have it, Did at last obtain a picture Where the faces all succeeded: Each came out a perfect likeness.
Then they joined and all abused it, Unrestrainedly abused it, As the worst and ugliest picture They could possibly have dreamed of.
'Giving one such strange expressions-- Sullen, stupid, pert expressions.
Really any one would take us (Any one that did not know us) For the most unpleasant people!' (Hiawatha seemed to think so, Seemed to think it not unlikely).
All together rang their voices, Angry, loud, discordant voices, As of dogs that howl in concert, As of cats that wail in chorus.


by Lewis Carroll | |

Photography Extraordinary

 The Milk-and-Water School 
Alas! she would not hear my prayer!
Yet it were rash to tear my hair;
Disfigured, I should be less fair.
She was unwise, I may say blind; Once she was lovingly inclined; Some circumstance has changed her mind.
The Strong-Minded or Matter-of-Fact School Well! so my offer was no go! She might do worse, I told her so; She was a fool to answer "No".
However, things are as they stood; Nor would I have her if I could, For there are plenty more as good.
The Spasmodic or German School Firebrands and Daggers! hope hath fled! To atoms dash the doubly dead! My brain is fire--my heart is lead! Her soul is flint, and what am I? Scorch'd by her fierce, relentless eye, Nothingness is my destiny!


by Lewis Carroll | |

Fit the Seventh ( Hunting of the Snark )

 The Banker's Fate 

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope; 
They threatened its life with a railway-share; 
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
And the Banker, inspired with a courage so new It was matter for general remark, Rushed madly ahead and was lost to their view In his zeal to discover the Snark.
But while he was seeking with thimbles and care, A Bandersnatch swiftly drew nigh And grabbed at the Banker, who shrieked in despair, For he knew it was useless to fly.
He offered large discount--he offered a cheque (Drawn "to bearer") for seven-pounds-ten: But the Bandersnatch merely extended its neck And grabbed at the Banker again.
Without rest or pause--while those frumious jaws Went savagely snapping around-- He skipped and he hopped, and he floundered and flopped, Till fainting he fell to the ground.
The Bandersnatch fled as the others appeared Led on by that fear-stricken yell: And the Bellman remarked "It is just as I feared!" And solemnly tolled on his bell.
He was black in the face, and they scarcely could trace The least likeness to what he had been: While so great was the fright that his waistcoat turned white-- A wonderful thing to be seen! To the horror of all who were present that day, He uprose in full evening dress, And with senseless grimaces endeavoured to say What his tongue could no longer express.
Down he sank in a chair--ran his hands through his hair-- And chanted in mimsiest tones Words whose utter inanity proved his insanity, While he rattled a couple of bones.
"Leave him here to his fate--it is getting so late!" The Bellman exclaimed in a fright.
"We have lost half a day.
Any further delay, And we sha'n't catch a Snark before night!"


by Lewis Carroll | |

Dedication

 Inscribed to a Dear Child:
In Memory of Golden Summer Hours
And Whispers of a Summer Sea 


Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,
Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well
Rest on a friendly knee, intent to ask
The tale he loves to tell.
Rude spirits of the seething outer strife, Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright, Deem if you list, such hours a waste of life, Empty of all delight! Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled.
Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy, The heart-love of a child!


by Lewis Carroll | |

Fames Penny-Trumpet

 Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack,
Ye little men of little souls!
And bid them huddle at your back -
Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals! 

Fill all the air with hungry wails -
"Reward us, ere we think or write!
Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails
To sate the swinish appetite!" 

And, where great Plato paced serene,
Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean
And Babel-clamour of the sty 

Be yours the pay: be theirs the praise:
We will not rob them of their due,
Nor vex the ghosts of other days
By naming them along with you.
They sought and found undying fame: They toiled not for reward nor thanks: Their cheeks are hot with honest shame For you, the modern mountebanks! Who preach of Justice - plead with tears That Love and Mercy should abound - While marking with complacent ears The moaning of some tortured hound: Who prate of Wisdom - nay, forbear, Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath, Trampling, with heel that will not spare, The vermin that beset her path! Go, throng each other's drawing-rooms, Ye idols of a petty clique: Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes, And make your penny-trumpets squeak.
Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds Of learning from a nobler time, And oil each other's little heads With mutual Flattery's golden slime: And when the topmost height ye gain, And stand in Glory's ether clear, And grasp the prize of all your pain - So many hundred pounds a year - Then let Fame's banner be unfurled! Sing Paeans for a victory won! Ye tapers, that would light the world, And cast a shadow on the Sun - Who still shall pour His rays sublime, One crystal flood, from East to West, When YE have burned your little time And feebly flickered into rest!


by Lewis Carroll | |

Madrigal

 (To Miss May Forshall.
) HE shouts amain, he shouts again, (Her brother, fierce, as bluff King Hal), "I tell you flat, I shall do that!" She softly whispers " 'May' for 'shall'!" He wistful sighed one eventide (Her friend, that made this Madrigal), "And shall I kiss you, pretty Miss!" Smiling she answered " 'May' for 'shall'!" With eager eyes my reader cries, "Your friend must be indeed a val- -uable child, so sweet, so mild! What do you call her?" "May For shall.
"


by Lewis Carroll | |

Fit the Eighth (Hunting of the Snark )

 The Vanishing 

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope; 
They threatened its life with a railway-share; 
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
They shuddered to think that the chase might fail, And the Beaver, excited at last, Went bounding along on the tip of its tail, For the daylight was nearly past.
"There is Thingumbob shouting!" the Bellman said.
"He is shouting like mad, only hark! He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head, He has certainly found a Snark!" They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed "He was always a desperate wag!" They beheld him--their Baker--their hero unnamed-- On the top of a neighbouring crag, Erect and sublime, for one moment of time, In the next, that wild figure they saw (As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm, While they waited and listened in awe.
"It's a Snark!" was the sound that first came to their ears, And seemed almost too good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers: Then the ominous words "It's a Boo--" Then, silence.
Some fancied they heard in the air A weary and wandering sigh That sounded like "--jum!" but the others declare It was only a breeze that went by.
They hunted till darkness came on, but they found Not a button, or feather, or mark, By which they could tell that they stood on the ground Where the Baker had met with the Snark.
In the midst of the word he was trying to say In the midst of his laughter and glee, He had softly and suddenly vanished away-- For the Snark was a Boojum, you see.


by Lewis Carroll | |

Shes All My Fancy Painted Him

 She's all my fancy painted him 
(I make no idle boast); 
If he or you had lost a limb, 
Which would have suffered most? 

He said that you had been to her, 
And seen me here before; 
But, in another character, 
She was the same of yore.
There was not one that spoke to us, Of all that thronged the street: So he sadly got into a 'bus, And pattered with his feet.
They sent him word I had not gone (We know it to be true); If she should push the matter on, What would become of you? They gave her one, the gave me two, They gave us three or more; They all returned from him to you, Though they were mine before.
If I or she should chance to be Involved in this affair, He trusts to you to set them free, Exactly as we were.
It seemed to me that you had been (Before she had this fit) An obstacle, that came between Him, and ourselves, and it.
Don't let him know she liked them best, For this must ever be A secret, kept from all the rest, Between yourself and me.


by Lewis Carroll | |

Ye Carpette Knyghte

 I have a horse - a ryghte good horse -
Ne doe Y envye those
Who scoure ye playne yn headye course
Tyll soddayne on theyre nose
They lyghte wyth unexpected force
Yt ys - a horse of clothes.
I have a saddel - "Say'st thou soe? Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?" I sayde not that - I answere "Noe" - Yt lacketh such, I woote: Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe! Parte of ye fleecye brute.
I have a bytte - a ryghte good bytte - As shall bee seene yn tyme.
Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte; Yts use ys more sublyme.
Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt? Yt ys - thys bytte of rhyme.


by Lewis Carroll | |

A Game of Fives

 Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:
Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.
Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six: Sitting down to lessons - no more time for tricks.
Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven: Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven! Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen: Each young man that calls, I say "Now tell me which you MEAN!" Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one: But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done? Five showy girls - but Thirty is an age When girls may be ENGAGING, but they somehow don't ENGAGE.
Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more: So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before! Five PASSE girls - Their age? Well, never mind! We jog along together, like the rest of human kind: But the quondam "careless bachelor" begins to think he knows The answer to that ancient problem "how the money goes"!


by Lewis Carroll | |

A Sea Dirge

 There are certain things--as, a spider, a ghost,
 The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three--
That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most
 Is a thing they call the Sea.
Pour some salt water over the floor-- Ugly I'm sure you'll allow it to be: Suppose it extended a mile or more, That's very like the Sea.
Beat a dog till it howls outright-- Cruel, but all very well for a spree: Suppose that he did so day and night, That would be like the Sea.
I had a vision of nursery-maids; Tens of thousands passed by me-- All leading children with wooden spades, And this was by the Sea.
Who invented those spades of wood? Who was it cut them out of the tree? None, I think, but an idiot could-- Or one that loved the Sea.
It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float With "thoughts as boundless, and souls as free": But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat, How do you like the Sea? There is an insect that people avoid (Whence is derived the verb "to flee").
Where have you been by it most annoyed? In lodgings by the Sea.
If you like your coffee with sand for dregs, A decided hint of salt in your tea, And a fishy taste in the very eggs-- By all means choose the Sea.
And if, with these dainties to drink and eat, You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree, And a chronic state of wet in your feet, Then--I recommend the Sea.
For I have friends who dwell by the coast-- Pleasant friends they are to me! It is when I am with them I wonder most That anyone likes the Sea.
They take me a walk: though tired and stiff, To climb the heights I madly agree; And, after a tumble or so from the cliff, They kindly suggest the Sea.
I try the rocks, and I think it cool That they laugh with such an excess of glee, As I heavily slip into every pool That skirts the cold cold Sea.


by Lewis Carroll | |

Phantasmagoria CANTO VII ( Sad Souvenaunce )

 "WHAT'S this?" I pondered.
"Have I slept? Or can I have been drinking?" But soon a gentler feeling crept Upon me, and I sat and wept An hour or so, like winking.
"No need for Bones to hurry so!" I sobbed.
"In fact, I doubt If it was worth his while to go - And who is Tibbs, I'd like to know, To make such work about? "If Tibbs is anything like me, It's POSSIBLE," I said, "He won't be over-pleased to be Dropped in upon at half-past three, After he's snug in bed.
"And if Bones plagues him anyhow - Squeaking and all the rest of it, As he was doing here just now - I prophesy there'll be a row, And Tibbs will have the best of it!" Then, as my tears could never bring The friendly Phantom back, It seemed to me the proper thing To mix another glass, and sing The following Coronach.
'AND ART THOU GONE, BELOVED GHOST? BEST OF FAMILIARS! NAY THEN, FAREWELL, MY DUCKLING ROAST, FAREWELL, FAREWELL, MY TEA AND TOAST, MY MEERSCHAUM AND CIGARS! THE HUES OF LIFE ARE DULL AND GRAY, THE SWEETS OF LIFE INSIPID, WHEN thou, MY CHARMER, ART AWAY - OLD BRICK, OR RATHER, LET ME SAY, OLD PARALLELEPIPED!' Instead of singing Verse the Third, I ceased - abruptly, rather: But, after such a splendid word I felt that it would be absurd To try it any farther.
So with a yawn I went my way To seek the welcome downy, And slept, and dreamed till break of day Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay And Leprechaun and Brownie! For year I've not been visited By any kind of Sprite; Yet still they echo in my head, Those parting words, so kindly said, "Old Turnip-top, good-night!"


by Lewis Carroll | |

Tema con Variazioni

 Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that process of Dilution which has proved so advantageous to her sister-art Music? The Diluter gives us first a few notes of some well-known Air, then a dozen bars of his own, then a few more notes of the Air, and so on alternately: thus saving the listener, if not from all risk of recognising the melody at all, at least from the too-exciting transports which it might produce in a more concentrated form.
The process is termed "setting" by Composers, and any one, that has ever experienced the emotion of being unexpectedly set down in a heap of mortar, will recognise the truthfulness of this happy phrase.
For truly, just as the genuine Epicure lingers lovingly over a morsel of supreme Venison - whose every fibre seems to murmur "Excelsior!" - yet swallows, ere returning to the toothsome dainty, great mouthfuls of oatmeal-porridge and winkles: and just as the perfect Connoisseur in Claret permits himself but one delicate sip, and then tosses off a pint or more of boarding-school beer: so also - I NEVER loved a dear Gazelle - NOR ANYTHING THAT COST ME MUCH: HIGH PRICES PROFIT THOSE WHO SELL, BUT WHY SHOULD I BE FOND OF SUCH? To glad me with his soft black eye MY SON COMES TROTTING HOME FROM SCHOOL; HE'S HAD A FIGHT BUT CAN'T TELL WHY - HE ALWAYS WAS A LITTLE FOOL! But, when he came to know me well, HE KICKED ME OUT, HER TESTY SIRE: AND WHEN I STAINED MY HAIR, THAT BELLE MIGHT NOTE THE CHANGE, AND THUS ADMIRE And love me, it was sure to dye A MUDDY GREEN OR STARING BLUE: WHILST ONE MIGHT TRACE, WITH HALF AN EYE, THE STILL TRIUMPHANT CARROT THROUGH.


by Lewis Carroll | |

Atalanta In Camden -Town

 AY, 'twas here, on this spot,
In that summer of yore,
Atalanta did not
Vote my presence a bore,
Nor reply to my tenderest talk "She had
heard all that nonsense before.
" She'd the brooch I had bought And the necklace and sash on, And her heart, as I thought, Was alive to my passion; And she'd done up her hair in the style that the Empress had brought into fashion.
I had been to the play With my pearl of a Peri - But, for all I could say, She declared she was weary, That "the place was so crowded and hot, and she couldn't abide that Dundreary.
" Then I thought "Lucky boy! 'Tis for YOU that she whimpers!" And I noted with joy Those sensational simpers: And I said "This is scrumptious!" - a phrase I had learned from the Devonshire shrimpers.
And I vowed "'Twill be said I'm a fortunate fellow, When the breakfast is spread, When the topers are mellow, When the foam of the bride-cake is white, and the fierce orange-blossoms are yellow!" O that languishing yawn! O those eloquent eyes! I was drunk with the dawn Of a splendid surmise - I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear, by a tempest of sighs.
Then I whispered "I see The sweet secret thou keepest.
And the yearning for ME That thou wistfully weepest! And the question is 'License or Banns?', though undoubtedly Banns are the cheapest.
" "Be my Hero," said I, "And let ME be Leander!" But I lost her reply - Something ending with "gander" - For the omnibus rattled so loud that no mortal could quite understand her.


by Lewis Carroll | |

Prologue

 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&xclm.
Yet what can one poor voice avail Against three tongues together? Imperious Prima flashes forth Her edict ``to begin it'': In gentler tones 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 The wells of fancy dry, And faintly strove that weary one To put the subject by ``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 Childhoood's dreams are twined In Memory's mystic band, Like pilgrim's wither'd wreath of flowers Pluck'd in a far-off land.


by Lewis Carroll | |

Rules and Regulations

 A short direction 
To avoid dejection, 
By variations 
In occupations, 
And prolongation 
Of relaxation, 
And combinations 
Of recreations, 
And disputation 
On the state of the nation 
In adaptation
To your station, 
By invitations 
To friends and relations, 
By evitation 
Of amputation, 
By permutation 
In conversation, 
And deep reflection 
You'll avoid dejection.
Learn well your grammar, And never stammer, Write well and neatly, And sing most sweetly, Be enterprising, Love early rising, Go walk of six miles, Have ready quick smiles, With lightsome laughter, Soft flowing after.
Drink tea, not coffee; Never eat toffy.
Eat bread with butter.
Once more, don't stutter.
Don't waste your money, Abstain from honey.
Shut doors behind you, (Don't slam them, mind you.
) Drink beer, not porter.
Don't enter the water Till to swim you are able.
Sit close to the table.
Take care of a candle.
Shut a door by the handle, Don't push with your shoulder Until you are older.
Lose not a button.
Refuse cold mutton.
Starve your canaries.
Believe in fairies.
If you are able, Don't have a stable With any mangers.
Be rude to strangers.
Moral: Behave.


by Lewis Carroll | |

Epilogue to Through the Looking Glass

 A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July --

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear
Pleased a simple tale to hear --

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear, Eager eye and willing ear, Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream -- Lingering in the golden gleam -- Life what is it but a dream?


by Lewis Carroll | |

Echoes

 Lady Clara Vere de Vere
Was eight years old, she said:
Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.
She took her little porringer: Of me she shall not win renown: For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her down.
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid? There stands the Inspector at thy door: Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four.
" "Kind words are more than coronets," She said, and wondering looked at me: "It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea.
"


by Lewis Carroll | |

My Fancy

 I painted her a gushing thing,
With years about a score;
I little thought to find they were
A least a dozen more;
My fancy gave her eyes of blue,
A curly auburn head:
I came to find the blue a green,
The auburn turned to red.
She boxed my ears this morning, They tingled very much; I own that I could wish her A somewhat lighter touch; And if you ask me how Her charms might be improved, I would not have them added to, But just a few removed! She has the bear's ethereal grace, The bland hyaena's laugh, The footstep of the elephant, The neck of a giraffe; I love her still, believe me, Though my heart its passion hides; "She's all my fancy painted her," But oh! how much besides!