It Would Be So Nice If Something

Come, Hearken Then, Ere Voice Of Dread, With Bitter Tiding Laden, Shall Summon To Unwelcome Bed A Melancholy Maiden! We Are But Older Children, Dear, Who Fret To Find Our Bedtime Near.

Thy Loving Smile Will Surely Hail The Love-gift Of A Fairy Tale.

We Are But Older Children, Dear, Who Fret To Find Our Bedtime Near.

My Hand Moves Because Certain Forces--electric, Magnetic, Or Whatever 'nerve-force' May Prove To Be--are Impressed On It By My Brain. This Nerve-force, Stored In The Brain, Would Probably Be Traceable, If Science Were Complete, To Chemical Forces Supplied To The Brain By The Blood, And Ultimately Derived From The Food I Eat And The Air I Breathe.

I Wish I Could Manage To Be Glad! Only I Never Can Remember The Rule. You Must Be Very Happy, Living In This Wood, And Being Glad Whenever You Like!