Far behind the looking glass
I should like to go and pass,
Looking near and far;
Magic things it shows to me,
Things as like as like can be,
To the things that are.
Hanging in the quiet hall
True it shows upon the wall
Window, clock and stair;
Sometimes roses in a vase,
Sometimes mother in her lace,
All in picture there.
Once, before the lights were lit,
Soft the smooth glass mirrored it,—
Evening’s rosy moon;
Slow it slipped from past a tree,
Shone a little while for me,
Then was gone so soon.
