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.