Blind The Spring blew trumpets of color; Her Green sang in my brain -- I heard a blind man groping "Tap -- tap" with his cane; I 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 Amid such unguessed glories -- That I am worse than blind.