All in the golden afternoon full leisurely we glide
For both our oars, with little skill
By little arms are plied
While little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide
Ah, cruel three!
In such an hour beneath such dreamy wheather
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather
And what can one poor voice avail
wheather
wanderings
guide
pretence
friendly
events
voices
faintly
hands
beast
avail
glide
tiniest
drained
while
three
wonders
afternoon
against
believe
fancy
persue
weary
child
dream
dreamy
wonderland
tongues
breath
beneath
happy
walls
leisurely
merry
moving
together
plied
setting
little
through
silence
quaint
skill
feather
slowly
story
steer
hammered
golden
strove
voice
cruel
subject
sudden
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