Lewis Carroll

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

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:

A Mother's breast: Safe refuge from her childish fears, From childish troubles, childish tears,

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

He thought he saw an Elephant That practiced on a fife: He looked again, and found it was

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,

Little maidens, when you look On this little story-book, Reading with attentive eye

Alice was walking beside the White Knight in Looking Glass Land. "You are sad." the Knight said in an anxious tone: "let me sing you a song to comfort you." "Is it very long?" Alice asked, for she had heard a good deal of poetry that day.

All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide; For both our oars, with little skill,

"Are you deaf, Father William!" the young man said, "Did you hear what I told you just now?" "Excuse me for shouting! Don't waggle your head"

Ay, 'twas here, on this spot, In that summer of yore, Atalanta did not

"Sister, sister, go to bed! Go and rest your weary head." Thus the prudent brother said.

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

When midnight mists are creeping, And all the land is sleeping, Around me tread the mighty dead,

When midnight mists are creeping, And all the land is sleeping, Around me tread the mighty dead,

Lady Clara Vere de Vere Was eight years old, she said: Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.

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

Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack, Ye little men of little souls! And bid them huddle at your back,

"You are old, Father William," the young man said, "And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head,

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 sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care; They pursued it with forks and hope; They threatened its life with a railway-share;

"Just the place for a Snark!" the Bellman cried, As he landed his crew with care; Supporting each man on the top of the tide

The Bellman looked uffish, and wrinkled his brow. "If only you'd spoken before! It's excessively awkward to mention it now,

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,

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 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 roused him with muffins,they roused him with ice, They roused him with mustard and cress, They roused him with jam and judicious advice,

I There was an ancient City, stricken down With a strange frenzy, and for many a day

From his shoulder Hiawatha Took the camera of rosewood, Made of sliding, folding rosewood;

How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves,

The day was wet, the rain fell souse Like jars of strawberry jam, (1) a sound was heard in the old henhouse,

Little Birds are dining Warily and well, Hid in mossy cell:

He shouts amain, he shouts again, (Her brother, fierce, as bluff King Hal), "I tell you flat, I shall do that!"

With saddest music all day long She soothed her secret sorrow: At night she sighed "I fear 'twas wrong

I have a fairy by my side Which says I must not sleep, When once in pain I loudly cried

I painted her a gushing thing, With years about a score; I little thought to find they were

One winter night, at half-past nine, Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy, I had come home, too late to dine,

"My First,    but don't suppose," he said, "I'm setting you a riddle, Is,    if your Victim be in bed,

"And did you really walk," said I, "On such a wretched night? I always fancied Ghosts could fly,

"Oh, when I was a little Ghost, A merry time had we! Each seated on his favourite post,

"Don't they consult the 'Victims,' though?" I said. "They should, by rights, Give them a chance,    because, you know,

As one who strives a hill to climb, Who never climbed before: Who finds it, in a little time,

"What's this?" I pondered. "Have I slept? Or can I have been drinking?" But soon a gentler feeling crept

The Milk-and-Water School Alas! she would not hear my prayer! Yet it were rash to tear my hair;

"How shall I be a poet? How shall I write in rhyme? You told me once 'the very wish

If, and the thing is wildly possible, the charge of writing nonsense were ever brought against the author of this brief but instructive poem, it would be based, I feel convinced, on the line "Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes" In view of this painful possibility, I will not (as I might) appeal indignantly to my other writings as a proof that I am incapable of such a deed: I will not (as I might) point to the strong moral purpose of this poem itself, to the arithmetical principles so cautiously inculcated in it, or to its noble teachings in Natural History, I will take the more prosaic course of simply explaining how it happened.

All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide; For both our oars, with little skill,

Man Naturally loves delay, And to procrastinate; Business put off from day to day

A short direction To avoid dejection, By variations

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

When on the sandy shore I sit, Beside the salt sea-wave, And fall into a weeping fit

And with that she began nursing her child again, singing a sort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent shake at the end of every line: "Speak roughly to your little boy, And beat him when he sneezes;

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,

Fit the First THE LANDING "Just the place for a Snark!" the Bellman cried,

I'll tell thee everything I can; There's little to relate. I saw an aged aged man,

I'll tell thee everything I can: There's little to relate. I saw an aged aged man,

The ladye she stood at her lattice high, Wi' her doggie at her feet; Thorough the lattice she can spy

"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail, "There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail. See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!

He thought he saw an Elephant, That practiced on a fife: He looked again, and found it was

"it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing `Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you're at!'You know the song, perhaps?" "I've heard something like it," said Alice. "It goes on, you know," the Hatter continued,

Beautiful soup, so rich and green, Waiting in a hot tureen! Who for such dainties would not stoop?

Lays of Mystery, Imagination, and Humor Number 1

Little Birds are dining Warily and well, Hid in mossy cell: Hid, I say, by waiters

There are certain things, a spider, a ghost, The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three, That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most

THE FIRST VOICE He trilled a carol fresh and free, He laughed aloud for very glee:

"'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

The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make

"Haddock's Eyes" or "The Aged Aged Man" or "Ways and Means" or "A-Sitting On A Gate" I'll tell thee everything I can;

I never loved a dear Gazelle, Nor anything that cost me much: High prices profit those who sell,

There was a young lady of station 'I love man' was her sole exclamation But when men cried, 'You flatter'

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you're at! Up above the world you fly,

I have a horse, a ryghte good horse, Ne doe Y envye those Who scoure ye playne yn headye course

"You are old, father William," the young man said, "And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head,