A Lytle Jape of Tusherie

By A. Tusher / The pleasant river gushes / Among the meadows green; / At home the author tushes; / For him it flows unseen.

The Birds among the Bushes / May wanton on the spray; / But vain for him who tushes / The brightness of the day!

The frog among the rushes / Sits singing in the blue.

By 'r la'kin! but these tushes / Are wearisome to do!

The task entirely crushes / The spirit of the bard: / God pity him who tushes --

His task is very hard.

The filthy gutter slushes, / The clouds are full of rain, / But doomed is he who tushes / To tush and tush again.

At morn with his hair-brushes, / Still "tush" he says and weeps; / At night again he tushes, / And tushes till he sleeps.

And when at length he pushes / Beyond the river dark --

'Las, to the man who tushes, / "Tush" shall be God's remark!

Hyères, May 1883.