The (almost really) Complete Works of Lewis Carroll

I sing a place wherein agree
All things on land that fairest be,
All that is sweetest of the sea.

Nor can I break the silken knot
That binds my memory to the spot
And friends too dear to be forgot.

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On rocky brow we loved to stand
And watch in silence, hand in hand,
The shadows veiling sea and land.

Then dropped the breeze; no vessel passed:
So silent stood each taper mast,
You would have deemed it chained and fast.

Above the blue and fleecy sky:
Below, the waves that quivering lie,
Like crispèd curls of greenery.

“A sail!” resounds from every lip.
Mizen, no, square-sail—ah, you trip!
Edith, it cannot be a ship!

So home again from sea and beach,
One nameless feeling thrilling each.
A sense of beauty, passing speech.

Let lens and tripod be unslung!
“Dolly!” ’s the word on every tongue;
Dolly must sit, for she is young!

Photography shall change her face,
Distort it with uncouth grimace—
Make her bloodthirsty, fierce, and base.

I end my song while scarce begun;
For I should want, ere all was done,
Four weeks to tell the tale of one:

And I should need as large a hand,
To paint a scene so wild and grand,
As he who traversed Egypt’s land.

What say you, Edith? Will it suit ye?
Reject it, if it fails in beauty:
You know your literary duty!