Emily Dickinson - A Narrow Fellow in the Grass

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 Snake skims swiftly by—
The Grass divides as with a Comb,
But never trained a foot.

And in the grass I hardly see
The fear he leaves behind—
Leads on to me—
While I am stung by feelings fine
And miss the stops—I cannot see.

The Grass indeed is not a thing
A fellow’s eye can view—
Unless it passes softly by,
And leaves him skin-deep bruised—