Dickinson, Emily: A narrow Fellow in the Grass (986)

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 --