A narrow Fellow in the Grass Occasionally rides -- You may have met Him, -- did you not His notice sudden is. The Grass divides as with a Comb -- A spotted shaft is seen -- And then it closes at your feet And opens further on. He likes a Boggy Acre A floor too cool for Corn -- Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot -- I more than once, at morn, Have passed, I thought, a whip lash Unbraiding in the Sun When stooping to secure it It wrinkled, and was gone. Several of Nature's People I know, and thy know me -- I feel for them a transport Of cordiality -- But never met this Fellow Attended, or alone, Without a tighter breathing And Zero at the Bone. |