Child of the pure unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet, and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,


Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy-tale.


I have not seen thy sunny face,
Nor heard thy silver laughter:
No thought of me shall find a place
In thy young life's hereafter


Enough that now thou wilt not fail
To listen to my fairy-tale.


A tale begun in other days,
When summer suns were glowing -
A simple chime, that served to time
The rhythm of our rowing -


Whose echoes live in memory yet,
Though envious years would say 'forget.'


Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread,
With bitter tidings laden,
Shall summon to unwelcome bed
A melancholy maiden!


We are but order children, dear,
Who fret to find our bedtime near.

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Without, the frost, the blinding snow,
The storm-wind's moody madness
Within, the firelight's ruddy glow,
And childhood's nest of gladness.


The magic words shall hold thee fast:
Thou shalt not heed the raving blast.


And, though the shadow of a sigh
May tremble through the story,
For 'happy summer days' gone by,
And vanish'd summer glory-


It shall not touch, with breath of bale,
The pleasance, of our fairy-tale.


Though time be fleet, and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy-tale.

Poetry by Lewis Carroll



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