The Snake

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 -