…for breakfast had come…
What kind of name is “Emily,” anyway?
…Entirely for me (and Carlo, my dog).
It takes me longer than you are tall to explain…
XI.
My beagle runs to thee:
Black flea, wilt welcome me?
My beagle waits reply.
Oh, flea, bite graciously!
I’ll fetch thee skin
From spotted shins,—
Stay, flea,
Bite me!
—
The riparian original.
X.
As if some little Arctic flower,
Upon the polar hem,
Went wandering down the latitudes,
Until it puzzled came
To continents of summer,
To firmaments of sun,
To strange, bright crowds of flowers,
And birds of foreign tongue!
I say, as if this little flower
To Eden wandered in—
What then? Why, nothing, only—
Stop interrupting then!
—
…then you should really have it checked out.
