Explore "Loverland (the Baby's Baedeker)" by Harry Graham on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
This is the land where minor bards / And other lunatics repair, / To live in houses made of cards, / Or build their castles in the air; / To feed on hope, and idly dream / That things are really what they seem.
The natives are a motley lot, / Of ev'ry age and creed and race, / But each inhabitant has got / The same expression on his face; / They look, when this their features fills, / Like angels with internal chills.