Sweet eyes by sorrow still unwet, To you the world is radiant yet, A palace-hall of splendid truth Touched by the golden haze of youth, Where hopes and joys are ever rife Amid the mystery of life; And seeking all to understand, The world to you is Wonderland. I turn and watch with unshed tears The furrowed track of ended years; I see the eager hopes that wane, The joys that die in deathless pain, The coward Faith that falsehoods shake, The souls that faint, the hearts that break, The Truth by livid lips bemoaned, The Right defiled, the Wrong enthroned,— And, striving still to understand, The world to me is Wonderland. A little time, then by and by The puzzled thought itself shall die. When, like the throb of distant drums, The call inevitable comes To blurring brain and weary limb, And when the aching eyes grow dim, And fast the gathering shadows creep To lull the drowsy sense asleep, We two shall slumber hand in hand To wake, perhaps, in Wonderland.
Wonderland
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