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-