" Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread,
With bitter tidings
laden,
Shall summon to
unwelcome bed
A melancholy Maiden!
We are but older
children, dear,
Who fret to find our
bedtime near.
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."
(Lewis Carrol)
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