  “Alice,” Child with dreaming eyes, Noting things that come to pass Turvey-wise in Wonderland Backwards through a Looking-Glass. Figures flit across thy dream, Muddle through and flicker out Some in cocksure blessedness, Some in Philosophic Doubt. Some in brackets, some in sulks, Some with latchkeys on the ramp, Living (in a sort of peace) In a Concentration Camp. Party moves on either side, Checks and feints that don’t deceive, Knights and Bishops, Pawns and all, In a game of Make-Believe. Things that fall contrariwise, Difficult to understand, Darkly through a Looking-Glass Turvey-wise in Wonderland. |
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