Page:Carroll - Phantasmagoria and other poems (1869).djvu/109

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They walked beside the wave-worn beach, Her tongue was very apt to teach, And now and then he did beseech

She would abate her dulcet tone, Because the talk was all her own, And he was dull as any drone.

She urged "No cheese is made of chalk:" And ceaseless flowed her dreary talk, Tuned to the footfall of a walk.

Her voice was very full and rich, And when at length she asked him "Which?" It mounted to its highest pitch.