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 pretence 
Our wanderings to guide 
Ah, cruel three! 
In such an hour beneath such dreamy wheather 
To beg a tale of breath too weak 
To stir the tiniest feather 
And what can one poor voice avail 
Against three tongues together 
Anon, to sudden silence won, in fancy they persue 
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 walls of fancy dry and faintly strove 
That weary one to put the subject by the next time 
It is next time the happy voices cry 
Thus grew the tale of wonderland 
Thus slowly one by one 
It's quaint events were hammered out 
And now the tale is done and home we steer 
A merry crew 
Beneath the setting sun
            
                    
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