The Mushroom Hunt
by
In early days, ere Common Sense
And Genius had in anger parted,
They made to friendship some pretense,
Though each, Heaven knows! diversely hearted.
To hunt for mushrooms once they went,
Through nibbled sheepwalks straying onward,
Sense with his dull eyes earthward bent,
While Genius shot his glances sunward!
Away they go! On roll the hours,
And toward the west the day-god edges;
See! Genius holds a wreath of flowers,
Fresh culled from all the neighboring hedges!
Alas! ere eve their bright hues flit,
While Common Sense (whom I so doat on!)
Thanked God “that he had little wit,”
And drank his ketchup with his mutton.