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 Noon 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 they 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 –
