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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 child, 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 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

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