Category Lewis Carroll

I love the stillness of the wood:I love the music of the rill:I love to couch in pensive moodUpon some silent hill. Scarce heard, beneath yon arching trees,The silver-crested ripples pass;And, like a mimic brook, the breezeWhispers among the grass.…

Hark, said the dying man, and sighed,To that complaining tone—Like sprite condemned, each eventide,To walk the world alone.At sunset, when the air is still,I hear it creep from yonder hill:It breathes upon me, dead and chill,A moment, and is gone. My son,…

In the dark silence of an ancient room,Whose one tall window fronted to the West,Where, through laced tendrils of a hanging vine,The sunset-glow was fading into night,Sat a pale Lady, resting weary handsUpon a great clasped volume, and her faceWithin…

He saw her once, and in the glance, A moment’s glance of meeting eyes,His heart stood still in sudden trance: He trembled with a sweet surprise—All in the waning light she stood,The star of perfect womanhood.That summer-eve his heart was…

There was a young lady of station‘I love man’ was her sole exclamationBut when men cried, ‘You flatter’She replied, ‘Oh! no matterIsle of Man is the true explanation’

A boat, beneath a sunny skyLingering onward dreamilyIn an evening of July— Children three that nestle near,Eager eye and willing earPleased a simple tale to hear— Long has paled that sunny sky:Echoes fade and memories die:Autumn frosts have slain July.…

I never loved a dear Gazelle—Nor anything that cost me much:High prices profit those who sell,But why should I be fond of such? To glad me with his soft black eyeMy son comes trotting home from school;He’s had a fight…

They told me you had been to her,And mentioned me to him;She gave me a good character,But said I could not swim. He sent them word I had not gone.(We know it to be true.)If she should push the matter…

A loaf of bread, the Walrus said,Is what we chiefly need:Pepper and vinegar besidesAre very good indeed—Now if you’re ready, Oysters, dear,We can begin to feed!

Hark, said the dying man, and sighed,To that complaining tone—Like sprite condemned, each eventide,To walk the world alone.At sunset, when the air is still,I hear it creep from yonder hill:It breathes upon me, dead and chill,A moment, and is gone.…