it may not always be so;and I say
that if your lips,which I
have loved,should touch
another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his
heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair
lay
in such a silence as I know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering
overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
if this should be,i say if this should be-
you of my
heart,send me a little word;
that I may go unto him,and take his
hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall I turn my face,and
hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more
red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are
dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses
damask'd, red and white
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in
some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress
reeks.
I love to hear her speak,--yet well I know
That music hath a far
more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go,--
My mistress when
she walks, treads on the ground;
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as
rare
As any she belied with false compare.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimbal in
the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths
outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws
that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird,and shun
The frumious
Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe
he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in
thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes
of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it
came.
One, two! One two! And through and through
The vorpal blade
went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with it's head
He went
galumphing back.
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my
beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his
joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimbal in
the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths
outgrabe.
Maintained by: Dave Forrest dforrest@virginia.edu