Blind

The Spring blew trumpets of color:

 Her Green sang in my brain heard a blind man groping

"Tap-tap" with his cane;

One pitied him in his blindness;

But can I boast, "I see"?

 Perhaps there walks a spirit Close by, who pities me.

A spirit who hears me tapping

The five-sensed cane of mind

T Amid such unguessed glories

That I am worse than blind.