CHILD of the pure unclouded brow And dreaming eyes of wonder! Though time be fleet, and I and thou Are half a life asunder, Thy loving smile will surely hail The love-gift of a fairy-tale.   I have not seen thy sunny face, Nor heard thy silver laughter; No thought of me shall find a place In thy young life's hereafter — Enough that now thou wilt not fail To listen to my fairy-tale.   A tale begun in other days, When summer suns were glowing — A simple chime, that served to time The rhythm of our rowing — Whose echoes live in memory yet, Though envious years would say 'forget'   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.   And though the shadow of a sigh May tremble through the story, For 'happy summer days' gone by, And vanish'd summer glory — It shall not touch with breath of bale The pleasance of our fairy-tale.   Lewis Carroll Aren't the illustrations fabulous?  I love all things