TWO REALITIES.

A waggon passed with scarlet wheels

And a yellow body, shining new.

“Splendid!” said I. “How fine it feels

To be alive, when beauty peels

The grimy husk from life.” And you

Said, “Splendid!” and I thought you'd seen

That waggon blazing down the street;

But I looked and saw that your gaze had been

On a child that was kicking an obscene

Brown ordure with his feet.

Our souls are elephants, thought I,

Remote behind a prisoning grill,

With trunks thrust out to peer and pry

And pounce upon reality;

And each at his own sweet will

Seizes the bun that he likes best

And passes over all the rest.