Port-wine, he says, when rich and sound, Warms his old bones like nectar: And as the inns, where it is found, Are his especial hunting-ground, We cal… - Lewis Carroll

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?

"It was much pleasanter at home," thought poor Alice, "when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn't gone down the rabbit-hole — and yet — and yet — ..."

"The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: Of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings"