shayanav: 
MUSHROOM (by Emily Dickinson)
The mushroom is the elf of plants, At evening it is not; At morning in a truffled hut It stops upon a spot   As if it tarried always; And yet its whole career Is shorter than a snake’s delay, And fleeter than a tare.   ‘Tis vegetation’s juggler, The germ of alibi; Doth like a bubble antedate, And like a bubble hie.   I feel as if the grass were pleased To have it intermit; The surreptitious scion Of summer’s circumspect.   Had nature any outcast face, Could she a son condemn, Had nature an Iscariot, That mushroom,—it is him.
Photo by hellfirediva

shayanav

MUSHROOM (by Emily Dickinson)

The mushroom is the elf of plants,
At evening it is not;
At morning in a truffled hut
It stops upon a spot
 
As if it tarried always;
And yet its whole career
Is shorter than a snake’s delay,
And fleeter than a tare.
 
‘Tis vegetation’s juggler,
The germ of alibi;
Doth like a bubble antedate,
And like a bubble hie.
 
I feel as if the grass were pleased
To have it intermit;
The surreptitious scion
Of summer’s circumspect.
 
Had nature any outcast face,
Could she a son condemn,
Had nature an Iscariot,
That mushroom,—it is him.

Photo by hellfirediva

(via mycology)

Tags: 'shrooms