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Poem	In 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 with which I tied him -- too When he was mean and new That string was there -- I shrank -- "How fair you are"! Propitiation's claw -- "Afraid," he hissed "Of me"? "No cordiality" -- He fathomed me -- Then to a Rhythm Slim Secreted in his Form As Patterns swim Projected him. That time I flew Both eyes his way Lest he pursue Nor ever ceased to run Till in a distant Town Towns on from mine I set me down This was a dream.
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