large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb_110
large/7245/poems_seriestwo_la_librivox_64kb_mp3/poemsseriestwo_3_dickinson_64kb
English
7245
XXVI. THE STORM. There came a wind like a bugle; It quivered through the grass, And a green chill upon the heat So ominous did pass We barred the windows and the doors As from an emerald ghost; The doom's electric moccason That very instant passed. TWENTY SIX THE STORM THERE CAME A WIND LIKE A BUGLE IT QUIVERED THROUGH THE GRASS AND A GREEN CHILL UPON THE HEAT SO OMINOUS DID PASS WE BARRED THE WINDOWS AND THE DOORS AS FROM AN EMERALD GHOST THE DOOM'S ELECTRIC MOCCASIN THAT VERY INSTANT PAST
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. XXV. THE MUSHROOM. The mushroom is the elf of plants, At evening it is not; At morning in a truffled hut It stops upon a spot As if it tarried always; And yet its whole career Is shorter than a snake's delay, And fleeter than a tare. 'T is vegetation's juggler, The germ of alibi; Doth like a bubble antedate, And like a bubble hie. I feel as if the grass were pleased To have it intermit; The surreptitious scion Of summer's circumspect. Had nature any outcast face, Could she a son contemn, Had nature an Iscariot, That mushroom, -- it is him. TTED 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 TWENTY FIVE THE MUSHROOM THE MUSHROOM IS THE ELF OF PLANTS AT EVENING IT IS NOT AT MORNING IN A TRUFFLED HUT IT STOPS UPON A SPOT AS IF IT TARRIED ALWAYS AND YET ITS WHOLE CAREER IS SHORTER THAN A SNAKE'S DELAY AND FLEETER THAN A TEAR TIS VEGETATION'S JUGGLER THE GERM OF ALIBI DOTH LIKE A BUBBLE ANTEDATE AND LIKE A BUBBLE HIGH I FEEL AS IF THE GRASS WERE PLEASED TO HAVE IT INTERMIT THE SURREPTITIOUS SCION OF SUMMER'S CIRCUMSPECT HAD NATURE ANY OUTCAST FACE COULD SHE A SON CONTEMN HAD NATURE AN ASCARIOT THAT MUSHROOM IT IS HIM
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