There's a wondrous fairy kingdom

Whither all may take a trip—

Quite an inexpensive journey,

It is not by rail or ship—

For it lies just where you fancy,

And a pleasant thing it seems

For a man to sojourn sometimes

In the land of dreams.

'Tis the land where man attaineth

To the end of his desire,

Where the minor poet warbles

And the laurel crowns his lyre:

It is there the sucking statesman

Works out Machiavellian schemes,

And young Briefless is a leader

In the land of dreams.

'Tis the land of fur and feather,

'Tis the paradise of sport,

Where the runs beat all recounted

O'er the walnuts and the port:

It is there the pheasant rockets,

It is there the covert teems,

And your powder's always straightest

In the land of dreams.

There with ease the patient golfer

Plays a record medal-round,

And the batsman get his hundred,

Hitting clean all round the ground;

There old Izaak's keen disciple

Thrashes quite ideal streams,

For he angles most "compleatly"

In the land of dreams.

'Tis a land where someone meets you

You may never meet elsewhere,

'Tis a land where words are whispered

You may whisper only there;

'Tis the home of youth and sunshine

Where you taste of joy's extremes,

For, of course, there's someone loves you

In the land of dreams.

'Tis a land of peace and quiet,

Free from yelling paper-boys,

And from Germany's musicians,

And offensive kinds of noise:

There the organ-grinder grinds not,

There no restive infant screams.

Oh, to spend one's whole existence

In the land of dreams!

'Tis a land where rates and taxes

Never need be brooded on,

And the cupboard is unfurnished

With the homely skeleton:

There the roses all are thornless,

Life is destitute of seams,

And, in short, its worth the living

In the land of dreams.