I

He makes a roadway of the crumbling fence, Or on the fallen tree,--brown as a leaf Fall stripes with russet,--gambols down the dense Green twilight of the woods. We see not whence He comes, nor whither--’tis a time too brief!-- He vanishes;--swift carrier of some Fay, Some pixy steed that haunts our child-belief-- A goblin glimpse from woodland way to way.