'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.
I painted her a gushing thing,
With years about a score;
I little thought to find they were
A least a dozen more;
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
The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright --
A BOAT beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July --
Children three that nestle near,
"SISTER, sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
Thus the prudent brother said.
Lady Clara Vere de Vere
Was eight years old, she said:
Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.