Lady Clara Vere de Vere
Was eight years old, she said:
Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.
She took her little porringer:
Of me she shall not win renown:
For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid?
There stands the Inspector at thy door:
Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four."
"Kind words are more than coronets,"
She said, and wondering looked at me:
"It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea."
Lewis Carroll's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Echoes by Lewis Carroll )
- Multi-dimensional; heavens?, Mark Heathcote
- Watch, ramesh rai
- You Know I Do, Michael McParland
- Drowning, Neela Nath
- Where to go, gajanan mishra
- This African Woman, Anthony Seyi Abiodun
- My sky is not clear and blue, BARRY WYATT JR.
- Salvation, gajanan mishra
- beef, it's what boys like, Mandolyn ...
- My Heartache, Arrianna Prentiss
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