From Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
#EnglishWriters #Victorian Adventures Alice's Wonderland in
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
In winter, when the fields are whi… I sing this song for your delight. In Spring, when woods are getting… I’ll try and tell you what I mean… In Summer, when the days are long…
Lays of Mystery, Imagination, and Humor Number 1 I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls, And each damp thing that creeps an…
All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide; For both our oars, with little ski… By little arms are plied, While little hands make vain prete…
The Baker’s Tale They roused him with muffins—they… They roused him with mustard and c… They roused him with jam and judic… They set him conundrums to guess.
HE shouts amain, he shouts again, (Her brother, fierce, as bluff Ki… “I tell you flat, I shall do that… She softly whispers “ ‘May’ for ‘… He wistful sighed one eventide
“SISTER, sister, go to bed! Go and rest your weary head.” Thus the prudent brother said. “Do you want a battered hide, Or scratches to your face applied?…
Inscribed to a Dear Child: In Memory of Golden Summer Hours And Whispers of a Summer Sea Girt with a boyish garb for boyish… Eager she wields her spade: yet lo…
Fit the First The Landing “Just the place for a Snark!” the… As he landed his crew with care; Supporting each man on the top of…
And with that she began nursing her child again, sin… lullaby to it as she did so, and g… lent shake at the end of every lin… “Speak roughly to your little boy,
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,
The Beaver’s Lesson They sought it with thimbles, they… They pursued it with forks and hop… They threatened its life with a ra… They charmed it with smiles and so…
The day was wet, the rain fell sou… Like jars of strawberry jam, [1] a sound was heard in the old henhous… A beating of a hammer. Of stalwart form, and visage warm,
“AND did you really walk,” said… “On such a wretched night? I always fancied Ghosts could fly… If not exactly in the sky, Yet at a fairish height.”
Lady Clara Vere de Vere Was eight years old, she said: Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran… She took her little porringer: Of me she shall not win renown: