MY WONDERLAND
They tell me you have been in Wonderland. Why, so have I! No boat’s keel touched the strand, No white sails flew, no swiftly gliding car Bore me to mystic realms, unknown and far.
And yet I, too, with these same questioning eyes, Have seen its mountains and beheld its skies; I, too, have been in Wonderland, and know How through its secret vales the weird winds blow.
One morn, in Wonderland—one chill spring morn— I saw a princess sleeping, pale and lorn, Cold as a corse; when, lo! from out the south A young knight rode, and kissed her sad, sweet mouth.
She smiled, she woke! Then rang from far and near Her minstrels’ voices, jubilant and clear; While in a trice, with eager, noiseless feet, All the young maiden grasses, fair and fleet,
Ran over hill and dale, to bring to her Green robes with wild flowers ’broidered. All astir Were the gay, courtier butterflies; the trees Flung forth their fluttering banners to the breeze;
The soft airs fanned her; and, in russet dressed, Her happy servitors around her pressed, Bearing strange sweets, and curious flagons filled With life’s new wine, that all her pulses thrilled.
In this same Wonderland, one sweet spring day, In a gray casket, deftly hidden away, I found two pearls; but as I looked they grew To living jewels, that took wing and flew.
And once a creeping worm, within my sight Wove its own shroud and coffin, sealed and white Then, bursting from its cerements, soared in air, A radiant vision, most supremely fair.
Out of the darksome mould, before my eyes I saw a shaft of emerald arise, Bearing a silver chalice veined with gold, And set with gems of splendors manifold.
Once in a vast, pale, hollow pearl I stood, When o’er the vaulted dome there swept a flood Of lurid waves, and a dark funeral pyre Took to its heart a globe of crimson fire.
The pageant faded. Lo! the pearl became A liquid sapphire, touched with rosy flame; And as I gazed, a silver crescent hung In violet depths, a thousand stars among.
I saw a woman, marvellously fair, Flushed with warm life, and buoyant as the air; Next morn she was a statue, breathless, cold, A marble goddess of transcendent mould.
I saw a folded bud, in one short hour, Open its sweet, warm heart and be a flower. O Wonderland! thou art so near, so far; Near as this rose, remote as yonder star!