'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
He thought he saw an Elephant
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:
Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.
Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six:
Little Birds are dining
Warily and well,
Hid in mossy cell:
Hid, I say, by waiters
I painted her a gushing thing,
With years about a score;
I little thought to find they were
A least a dozen more;
"SISTER, sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
Thus the prudent brother said.
Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see
him when he came, but didn't seem to miss him if he stayed away.
And cannot pleasures, while they last,
The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright --
Lady Clara Vere de Vere
Was eight years old, she said:
Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.