All in a Golden Afternoon
All
in
the
golden
afternoon
Full
leisurely
we
glide;
For
both
our
oars,
with
little
skill,
By
little
arms
are
plied,
While
little
hands
make
vain
pretense
Our
wanderings
to
guide.
Ah,
cruel
Three!
In
such
an
hour,
Beneath
such
dreamy
weather,
To
beg
a
tale
of
breath
too
weak
To
stir
the
tiniest
feather!
Yet
what
can
one
poor
voice
avail
Against
three
tongues
together?
Imperious
Prima
flashes
forth
Her
edict
to
“begin
it”–
In
gentler
tones
Secunda
hopes
“There
will
be
nonsense
in
it”–
While
Tertia
interrupts
the
tale
Not
more
than
once
a
minute.
Anon,
to
sudden
silence
won,
In
fancy
they
pursue
The
dream-child
moving
through
a
land
Of
wonders
wild
and
new,
In
friendly
chat
with
bird
or
beast–
And
half
believe
it
true.
And
ever,
as
the
story
drained
The
wells
of
fancy
dry,
And
faintly
strove
that
weary
one
To
put
the
subject
by,
“The
rest
next
time”–“It
is
next
time!”
The
happy
voices
cry.
Thus
grew
the
tale
of
Wonderland:
Thus
slowly,
one
by
one,
Its
quaint
events
were
hammered
out–
And
now
the
tale
is
done,
And
home
we
steer,
a
merry
crew,
Beneath
the
setting
sun.
Alice!
a
childish
story
take,
And
with
a
gentle
hand
Lay
it
where
Childhood’s
dreams
are
twined
In
Memory’s
mystic
band,
Like
pilgrim’s
withered
wreath
of
flowers
Plucked
in
a
far-off
land.
Lewis Carroll
Lewis Carroll, (born January 27, 1832, Daresbury, Cheshire, England—died January 14, 1898, Guildford, Surrey), English logician, mathematician, photographer, and novelist, especially remembered for Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) and its sequel, Through the Looking-Glass (1871). His poem The Hunting of the Snark (1876) is nonsense literature of the highest order.