Jabberwock

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

It is brillig — the broiling hour before dinner — and violet light lies over the wabe. Take the vorpal sword, rest in uffish thought by the Tumtum tree, then carry the blade into the tulgey wood, where something with eyes of flame is already burbling your name.

WASD move drag look SPACE/click strike ENTER continue M sound

Frabjous day

Callooh! Callay!

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe.

The eyes of flame are out. Dawn breaks gold over the wabe, the toves gyre a little faster, and the beamish boy comes galumphing home with the head.

The jaws that bite

The claws catch.

The wabe dims, and the wood keeps its secret a while longer. But the poem is not finished with you — rise by the sundial, keep moving when it lunges, and strike when the burbling stops.