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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.