But if it should happen the dream was all smashed
Till nothing but fragments were found,
You will have such a nightmare you’ll holler out loud;
And my! don’t the Gnomes hop around!
They tickle each other and wiggle their heads,
And a comical picture they make;
For they scamper in forty directions at once
When they think you’re about to awake.
Quite often it happens the box will contain
A mixture of several kinds;
And when it is opened they’re all in a muss,
So the King takes the first dream he finds,
While the Gnomes take the others, and all round your head
They are placed in a circular row;
But in cases like this there is no time to dance:
They must keep them all wound up, you know.
How funny it is when it happens like that!
One goblin will grind out his dreams,
But another commences before he leaves off,
And they both grind at once, till it seems
Like a queer panorama inside of your head
(For the rest are all grinding as well);
And if, the next morning, you’re asked what you dreamed.
You will find you’re too mixed up to tell.
