Devido a um impulso repentino motivado por uma leitura de um texto da Raquel, fui agora há pouco até a bilbioteca do Instituto de Estudos da Linguagem aqui da Unicamp e peguei Alice's adventures in Wonderland and Through the looking-glass, o clássico de Lewis Carroll. Há muito eu queria lê-lo e agora estou decidido. Comentarei minhas impressões quando terminar. Abaixo, o poema que inicia o livro.

All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
White little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide.

Ah, cruel Three! In such a hour,
Beneath such dreamy weather,
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?

Imperious Prima flashes forth
Her edict 'to begin it':
In gentler tones Secunda hopes
'There will be nonsense in it!'
While Tertia interrupts the tale
Not more than once a minute.

Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast -
And half believe it true.

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 dream are twined
In Memory's mystic band,
Like pilgrim's wither'd wreath of flowers
Pluck'd in a far-off land.