Read Alice in Verse: The Lost Rhymes of Wonderland for Free Online

long trail of smoke leads the way to the pass
    ’Neath the shade of the flowers in full summer bloom,
    Where the wisest of orators rests on his ’shroom—
    With his mind ever-sharp, and his tongue ever-terse,
    As he lectures on dialect, doggerel, and verse:
    ‘Your poetry’s rough —an affront to the ear
    That is trained for the rhythm that we practice here.
    It should travel with ease from your tongue to your mouth,
    Like the winds from the north as they travel down south.
    Like the moon in ascension, or stars on the breeze,
    Should the verbal intention be always to please—
    To traverse the vernacular we practice here,
    To the rules of these rhythms, so must you adhere:
    You should never include more than what is required
    Of the verse you rehearse for results most desired—
    For the troublesome stanza, you’ve probably heard,
    Is the one that is burdened by one extra word.
    Now these phrases poetic may often sound queer—
    Rearranged, interchanged, and exceedingly drear—
    But a word thus omitted is song to the ear
    Of the sweet elocution that we practice here.
    So always remember to keep tempo true,
    And be mindful of diction—no matter the skew—
    And to flip your words freely, but never exceed
    All those requisite syllables that you will need.
    We shall start with the basics of rhythm and rhyme,
    And thus count every syllable whilst keeping time—
    Without heed to the logic that others hold dear,
    Or resistance to phrases you’d often find queer.
    So, if thusly possessed, I suggest you regale
    With the frightful delight of a maritime tale.
    I shall cue you but once; then you’re off on your own,
    Yet to tease with your rhythm and please with your tone:
    How Doth the Little Busy Bee
         Or Crocodile begin it—
    Now give us song as twice as long,
         With more compunction in it.
    But mindful of the syllables
         And tempo as you spin it—
    For less or more, or cadence poor,
         Will surely never win it.’



T HE M ARINER’S T ALE
    With comportment in question and hands folded so,
    She commenced with recital of maritime woe—
    With a tone most peculiar, which only grew worse
    With the trembling release of each subsequent verse:
    ‘How doth the looming middle-night
          Continue with its breathing—
    To overlay what underlies,
          And propagate such seething!
    How skillfully they navigate,
          How steadily they row
    About the sea in search of things
          So many miles below.
    How deeply plunge the divers here
          Into the blackest waters—
    To slay the creature whilst she sleeps
          Beside her sons and daughters.
    How boldly they perform their task,
          How silent then the wake,
    As creatures small begin to stir,
          With hungers yet to slake.
    How frenzied doth the waters flail
          To complement such seething—
    How deafening those foundlings wail,
          When first they take to teething!’

T HE S UBJECTIVE R EVIEW
    The Caterpillar closed his eyes,
         And raised his pointed nose—
    In cool contempt or careful thought,
         Or simply in repose,
    One couldn’t say with certainty:
         One really never knows.
    He tapped his fingers pensively,
         Whilst lavish rings of smoke
    Did permeate about his perch
         To form a shielding cloak—
    And when the haze was quite replete,
         The Caterpillar spoke:
    ‘How lovely flows your melody,
         How sweet your coarse refrain—
    How perfectly you galvanise
         The perfectly mundane.
    How practical your poetry,
         How timely every cue—
    How clearly you infuse it with
         A clearly slanted view.
    How smooth your flow of syllables,
         How deft your cutting wit—
    How flawlessly you intertwine
         Each flawed and tepid bit.
    How sweetly blunt your countenance,
         How picturesque your idyll—
    However , you should never slouch
         When offering