Alice in Verse: The Lost Rhymes of Wonderland (7 page)

The Queen released a heaving sigh

     That shook the palace gables,

And sent a wave of turbulence

     Along the garden tables—

As tears began to freely flow,

     And flood the nearby stables.

And when the flow was stanched at last,

So did the Queen embrace her task:

‘I made a tray of treacle tarts

     (We know this to be true)

And garnished each with tiny hearts

     Of lovely crimson hue.

I gave him one, he gave them three,

     They gave each other four;

Then all returned from him to me

     (Still two shy of a score).

They told me he had been to
her
,

     And mentioned me to
them
,

Who’d sullied my good character,

     And painted me so
grim
.

If
they
or
she
should chance to be

     Involved in this affair,

Then trust that we shall hang
all three

     With swift judicious care!’

The Queen fell into silence, whilst

     The Hatter and the Hare

Did contemplate such violence with

     A most indifferent air—

And sipped their tea quite casually,

     As if they’d not a care.

They waited with sedated mien

To hear the ruling of the Queen:

‘It’s true, the crime committed here

     By
three
may have been done—

And yet the
theft
, it would
appear
,

     Was carried out by
one
.

Yet one of whom, one
must
admit,

     Beyond one’s modest measure,

It could be said one
might
acquit—

     If
so
one’s royal pleasure.

A notion that one
could
explore,

     With little trepidation,

If
not
for one who would ignore

     Such
tender
supplication.

Still torn my soul and pained my heart

     Upon this weighty matter:

To spare the thief who stole the tarts,

     Or send him up the ladder?’

The Queen approached the fated Knave,

     Who knelt upon one knee,

Yet held his head up, high and brave,

     For all the court to see—

A
handsome
head, it had been said,

     And
none
could disagree.

As tears began to flow once more,

So did her final verse outpour:

‘How gently flows the poetry,

     
How smooth the sweet refrain;

How deeply cuts the lovely rose

     
Into the regal vein.

How yet this dark and lonely night

     
About us tempts and teases;

How, too, this ever-waning light

     
So thoroughly displeases.

How carefully the ruling hand

     
Doth
cut
the budding flower,

And thus ensure its safe remand

     
Into the royal tower.

How
deeply
shall it please the host

     
To view the lovely head—

Atop the highest corner post

     
Above the royal bed!’

The King reviewed the evidence,

     The Mouse began to scurry,

The Hatter brought the hammer down,

     The Hare prepared the curry.

They trapped the Mouse; the King cried out

     (As if there’d been no flurry):

‘We’ll carry out the sentence first,

     And then hear from the jury!’

The court concurred most heartily,

     And promptly took to cheering.

The Knave approached the chopping block,

     His final moment nearing.

Whilst Hare and Hatter plied the Mouse

     With soothing elocution,

There rose a voice in bold dissent

     To halt the execution:

‘You cannot have the sentence first!

     That’s not the way it’s doing!’

‘You mean it’s
done
,’ the Hatter said,

     ‘
Unless
I’m misconstruing—

If not, my dear, then hold your tongue,

     
Until
the tea is brewing!’

‘Or, if you
must
,’ the Hare put in,

     ‘At
least
until it’s spewing!’

The Dormouse squeaked, the Hatter shrieked,

     The Hare was off and running—

Though twice as quick, not
near
as slick,

     Nor nearly
quite
as cunning!

The Mouse ran up the balustrade,

     The Hatter blocked the railing,

The King released the royal guard,

     The jury took to flailing.

‘Collar that Mouse and turn him out!’

     The Queen of Hearts was screaming.

‘Off with his whiskers! Off with his head!’

     (
‘Wake up, dear Alice, you’re dreaming!’
)

‘Suppress him and pinch him and pepper his tail!

     And butter him up till he’s gleaming!

Then bring me his head in a treacle-filled pail!’

     (
‘Dear Alice, wake up now, you’re dreaming!’
)

She wakes with a start at the most frightful part:

     With a flurry of cards still descending;

With the Hare and the Hatter, the King and the Queen,

     And all others now swiftly ascending—

To the spot on the green where the Knave had once been,

     With the verdict of birds yet impending—

To the soft garden bed where the roses, now red,

     Are still wet with the freshness of mending—

To the trail of the twins, with their mischievous grins,

     And the rattle o’er which they’re contending—

To the deep tulgey wood, past the long-standing wabe,

     Where the darkness is ever-descending—

To the party of tea, and the disgruntled three,

     And the cat with his smile condescending—

To the sage on his ’shroom, and the door-laden room,

     With a bottle and biscuit portending—

To that place in her dreams where the memory seems

     More and more like a happier ending—

To that moment in time where both rhythm and rhyme

     Are but virtues still
well worth defending
.

J.T. Holden is the author of the forthcoming books
Bedtime Tales for Naughty Children
and
O The Dark Things You’ll See!
As a boy J.T. would often make up rhymes and limericks to entertain friends, but it wasn’t until one of them gave him a gift-wrapped box containing a blank notebook and a pen that he took that first crucial step.