All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both of oars, with little skill,
By little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide.
[...]
Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream - child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In freindly chat with bird or beast -
And half believe it true.
[...]
Thus gre 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.
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