Dreamland

By Lewis Carroll

When midnight mists are creeping,

Around me tread the mighty dead,

Lo, warriors, saints, and sages,

With solemn pace and reverend face

The blaze of noonday splendour,

May charm the eye: yet they shall die,

But here, in Dreamland's centre,

These visions fair, this radiance rare,

I see the shadows falling,

Around me tread the mighty dead,