A narrow fellow in the
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
And opens further on.
He likes a boggy acre,
A floor too cool for corn.
Yet when a child, and barefoot,
I more than once, at morn,
Have passed,
I thought, a
Unbraiding in the sun,—When, stooping to secure it,
It wrinkled, and was gone.
Several of nature's peopleI know, and they know me;
I feel for them a
Of cordiality;
But never met this fellow,
Attended or alone,
Without a tighter breathing,
And zero at the bone.
