And ever,as the story drained The wells of fancy dry, And faintly strove that weary one To put the subject by, “The rest next time--”“It is next time!” The happy voices cry. Thus grew the tale of Wonderland: Thus slowly,one by one, Its quaint events were hammered out- And now the tale is done, And home we steer,a merry crew, Beneath the setting sun. Alice!A childish story take, And,with a gentle hand, Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined In Memory's mystic band, Like pilgrim's wither'd wreath of flowers Pluck'd in a far-off land.And ever, as the story drained The wells of fancy dry, And faintly strove that weary one To put the subject by, “ The rest next time— ” “ It is next time ! ” The happy voices cry. Thus grew the tale of Wonderland : Thus slowly, one by one, Its quaint events were hammered out— And now the tale is done, And home we steer, a merry crew, Beneath the setting sun. Alice ! A childish story take, And, with a gentle hand, Lay it where Childhood’s dreams are twined In Memory’s mystic band, Like pilgrim’s wither’d wreath of flowers Pluck’d in a far-off land