IN THE PUMPKIN
Leave go my hands. Let me catch breath and see,
What is this confine either side of me?
Green pumpkin vines about me coil and crawl,
Seen sidelong, like a ’possum in a tree,—
Ah me, ah me, that pumpkins are so small!
Oh, my fair love, I charge thee, let me out;
From this gold lush encircling me about;
I turn and only meet a pumpkin wall.
The crescent moon shines slim,—but I am stout,—