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.
'T is 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 contemn,
Had nature an Iscariot,
That mushroom, — it is him.
We are busy working to bring Emily Dickinson's "The Mushroom" to life through our unique musical arrangements and will have a full analysis of the poem here for you soon.
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This creative journey takes time—each composition represents hours of dedicated work to create something that deepens our connection to Emily Dickinson's words in meaningful ways.
While you wait for our complete interpretation, we invite you to explore other musical arrangements in our gallery or learn more about Emily Dickinson's life and contributions to literature.
Check back soon to experience how "The Mushroom" transforms when verse meets melody—a unique journey that makes poetry accessible, engaging, and profoundly moving in new ways.