Ah, God, the way your little finger moved
As you thrust a bare arm backward
And made play with your hair
And a comb a silly gilt comb
Ah, God – that I should suffer
Because of the way a little finger moved.
"Contrariwise," continued Tweedledee, "if it was so, it might be, and if it were so, it would be; but as…
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very Heaven!
Happiness is having a scratch for every itch.