All In The Golden Afternoon

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 wells 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