Page:The Single Hound; poems of a lifetime.djvu/107

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N Winter, in my room,

I came upon a worm,

Pink, lank, and warm.

But as he was a worm

And worms presume,

Not quite with him at home—

Secured him by a string

To something neighboring,

And went along.

A trifle afterward

A thing occurred,

I'd not believe it if I heard—

But state with creeping blood;

A snake, with mottles rare,

Surveyed my chamber floor,

In feature as the worm before,

But ringed with power.

The very string