Come, little children, hand in hand,
And wander with me in Wonderland;
The beautiful things in this beautiful land
Oh, only your hearts could understand.

Only young hearts could with me stray
Over the hills and far away,
Into a land where all is play
And life is one long holiday.

For only the pure of heart can see
The flowers aflame on every tree;
Only the meek of heart can hear
Birds that are singing all the year.

Oh, beautiful, beautiful Wonderland!
Its fields lie green on either hand,
So close to you and so close to me
We have only to open our eyes to see:

I

Coral pink the flowers, amber gold and blue;
Tawny green the grasses diamonded with dew;
Every bush a blossom; sweet drive the snows
Through the hawthorn thickets as the west wind blows.

All adrift the clover, ten million strong,
Flaunting flags of battle, bursting into song
Like a fleet of galleons manned aloft with bees —
Bands of roaring buccaneers breasting scarlet seas.

Waves of orange splendor billow to our feet,
Pressed along by rose winds drifting through the heat.
Purple swirls of asters eddy as we pass
Through the marguerites that foam over deeps of grass.

For we are now in Wonderland, where flowers never fade;
Where color floods like laughter up every field and glade,
Painting buds and berries and lips a brighter hue —
And you never saw such green grass nor ever sky so blue!

II

Stop a moment, Little Hearts, harken to the singing.
All the world's a-full of birds, all the woods are ringing —
Ringing with a million flutes, golden bells and chimes —
Every voice is carolling over Happy Times.

Scarlet crests and emerald throats,
Yellow vests and turquoise coats —
Every bird is dressed just as gaily as his notes.

Blue birds and bobolinks and soldier birds are twittering;
Everywhere we turn our eyes painted wings are flittering —
Flittering among the leaves, bursting into view
Where the snowy cherry sprays splash the summer blue

For we are now in Wonderland, where all the things are glad;
Where neither bird nor blossom nor little child is sad;
Where there's so much of laughter even the leaves laugh too,
And you never saw such green grass nor ever sky so blue.

III

Little lambs are dancing in the way they've always done,
Dancing for the joy of it in meadows warm with sun;
And who can be their piper and why they leap so high,
The daffodils could tell you as they dance by.

The music is within, and it's oh, too sweet to sing!
For it stirs one like the south-wind blowing up the birds of Spring;
For it stirs one like the night-wind when it draws the hosts of June
Dancing northward through the willows by a high wet moon.

Circling with daisy chains in and out we go,
Splashed with yellow pollen from the petals that we throw;
Our limbs and our hair and our hearts all free
As the summer winds that toss in the tall pine tree.

For we are now in Wonderland, where no one weary grows,
And the lamest little brother can trip lightly on his toes,
Over upland meadows drenched in wind and dew,
Down among the green glades under skies of blue.

IV

A white cloth, a green field and the shade of one big tree,
And we ringed round the supper as hungry as can be —
Cheeks as red as apples, teeth and eyes agleam
Over bowls of junket and jugs of frothy cream.

Cakes and fruits and ices are piled on platters blue;
But as for bibs and tuckers, a burdock leaf will do;
And the food is never finished and the milk is ever flowing,
While every bush along the bank is bright with berries growing.

Overhead the tree-folk are sitting down to tea —
The red squirrels and chipmunks, just like you and me;
And every time the wind shakes their table-cloth of green
Little crumbs of shell come dropping through the screen.

For we are now in Wonderland, where no one's ever poor,
Where food and drink are plenty and every day brings more;
Where the season's always summer and the world is never cold,
And not a fruit nor flower nor little child grows old.

V

When the sun squats at twilight like a lantern on the sea,
And our shadows run before us as great as any tree,
We see the insect lanterns going up on every mast
To let the daylight dwellers know the things of day are past.

'Tis evening, warm grey evening, when the black bats fly,
And overhead the nightjars twang their strings across the sky,
And the grey moths and millers and the soft owls go by —
Can't you hear the fairies singing in the berry thickets nigh?

There's a couch of fern and rushes that is sweeter than a bed;
There's a ball of everlasting that rolls soft beneath the head;
There's a crazy-quilt of shadows and a coverlid of stars,
And dear old Mother Nature to let down the Dreamland bars.

For we are now in Wonderland, the Wonderland of home,
And Love lies down beside us however far we roam;
And there's not a clock nor whistle to call us in from play
And shut us under house-tops at the end of every day.

VI

Oh the evening and the shadows and the white stars that leap
All suddenly along the crest of kneeling hills of sleep,
Where elephants of ebony beneath a mist of stars
Go marching silent all night long toward morning's white bazaars.

Their howdahs are heaped high with gifts for everyone,
And the fabric of these dream gifts are what the day has spun.
So strange of shape and color, so wonderful and bright,
They leave their caravansary upon the backs of night.

All night the swaying burdens bulk huge along the rim —
They slowly move below the moon on monsters vast and dim;
Till somewhere close to morning, as the wide world turns grey,
They reach the city walls and pass the bright gates of Day.

For we are now in Wonderland, where all our dreams come true;
And Heaven lies around us as the earth fields do;
And the grass is ever green and the sky is ever blue,
And Happiness plays with us the whole year through.