Lewis Carroll Poems

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
Is a thing they call the Sea.
...

"You are old, father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head --
Do you think, at your age, it is right?
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All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
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Inscribed to a Dear Child:
In Memory of Golden Summer Hours
And Whispers of a Summer Sea
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When midnight mists are creeping,
And all the land is sleeping,
Around me tread the mighty dead,
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A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July --

...

When on the sandy shore I sit,
Beside the salt sea-wave,
And fall into a weeping fit
Because I dare not shave -
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Little maidens, when you look
On this little story-book,
Reading with attentive eye
Its enticing history,
...

AY, 'twas here, on this spot,
In that summer of yore,
Atalanta did not
Vote my presence a bore,
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I'll tell thee everything I can;
There's little to relate.
I saw an aged, aged man,
...