Author(s): Lewis Carroll
Excerpt from The Hunting of the Snark: An Agony, in Eight Fits
Unscribed to a dear Child:
in memory of golden summer hours
and whispers of a summer sea.
Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,
Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well
Rest on a friendly knee, intent to ask
The tale he loves to tell.
Rude spirits of the seething outer strife,
Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,
Deem, if you list, such hours a waste of life,
Empty of all delight
Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy
Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled.
Ah, happy be who owns that tenderest joy,
The heart-love of a child
Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more
Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days -
Albeit bright memories of that sunlit shore
Yet haunt my dreaming gaze
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