Iii

Of elfin chivalry, that, helmed with gold, Invisible march, making a twinkling sound.-- What brought thee here?--this wind, that steals the old Gray legends from the forests and around Whispers them now? Or, in those purple weeds The hermit brook so busy with his beads?-- Lulling the silence with his prayers all day, Droning soft Aves on his rosary Of bubbles.--Or, that butterfly didst mark On yon hag-taper, towering by the way, A witch's yellow torch?--Or didst, like me, Watch, drifting by, these curled, brown bits of bark?