HO comes so damp by grass and

grave,

At ghastly twilight hour;

And bubbles forth his pois'nous

breath

On ev'ry shudd'ring flow'rÎ

Who dogs the houseless wanderer

Upon the wintry wold;

And kisses—with his frothy lips—

The clammy brow and cold?

Who, hideous, trails a slimy form,

Betwixt the moonlight pale;

And the pale, fearful, sleeping face?

Our little friend—the Snail.