Lewis Carroll

The First Voice HE trilled a carol fresh and free, He laughed aloud for very glee: There came a breeze from off the sea: It passed athwart the glooming flat – It fanned his

Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab: He suggested curves of beauty, Curves pervading all his figure, Which the eye might follow onward, Till they centered in the breast-pin, Centered in the golden breast-pin. He had

When on the sandy shore I sit, Beside the salt sea-wave, And fall into a weeping fit Because I dare not shave – A little whisper at my ear Enquires the reason of my

“DON’T they consult the ‘Victims,’ though?” I said. “They should, by rights, Give them a chance – because, you know, The tastes of people differ so, Especially in Sprites.” The Phantom shook his head

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 Barrister’s Dream 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.

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

“AND did you really walk,” said I, “On such a wretched night? I always fancied Ghosts could fly – If not exactly in the sky, Yet at a fairish height.” “It’s very well,” said

A Mother’s breast: Safe refuge from her childish fears, From childish troubles, childish tears, Mists that enshroud her dawning years! See how in sleep she seems to sing A voiceless psalm an offering Raised,

“OH, when I was a little Ghost, A merry time had we! Each seated on his favourite post, We chumped and chawed the buttered toast They gave us for our tea.” “That story is

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

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

I There was an ancient City, stricken down With a strange frenzy, and for many a day They paced from morn to eve the crowded town, And danced the night away. I asked the

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

”Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare ‘You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.’ As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose Trims his

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

Little maidens, when you look On this little story-book, Reading with attentive eye Its enticing history, Never think that hours of play Are your only HOLIDAY, And that in a HOUSE of joy Lessons

ONE winter night, at half-past nine, Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy, I had come home, too late to dine, And supper, with cigars and wine, Was waiting in the study. There was a

The ladye she stood at her lattice high, Wi’ her doggie at her feet; Thorough the lattice she can spy The passers in the street, “There’s one that standeth at the door, And tirleth

“MY First – but don’t suppose,” he said, “I’m setting you a riddle – Is – if your Victim be in bed, Don’t touch the curtains at his head, But take them in the

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 pretense Our wanderings to guide. Ah, cruel Three!

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,

How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale! How cheerfully he seems to grin How neatly spreads his claws, And welcomes little

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!

I have a fairy by my side Which says I must not sleep, When once in pain I loudly cried It said “You must not weep” If, full of mirth, I smile and grin,

Tweedledee said to Alice, “You like poetry-“ “Ye-es, pretty well-some poetry,” Alice said doubtfully. “What shall I repeat to her,” said Tweedledee, looking round at Tweedledum with great solemn eyes. “‘The Walrus and the

“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

Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see Him when he came, but didn’t seem to miss him if he stayed away. And cannot pleasures, while they last,

I’ll tell thee everything I can; There’s little to relate. I saw an aged aged man, A-sitting on a gate. “Who are you, aged man?” I said, “And how is it you live?” And

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 –

The Bellman’s Speech The Bellman himself they all praised to the skies Such a carriage, such ease and such grace! Such solemnity, too! One could see he was wise, The moment one looked in

Lays of Mystery, Imagination, and Humor Number 1 I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls, And each damp thing that creeps and crawls Went wobble-wobble on the walls. Faint odours of departed cheese, Blown

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

He thought he saw an Elephant, That practised on a fife: He looked again, and found it was A letter from his wife. ‘At length I realise,’ he said, The bitterness of Life!’ He

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

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