Into new depths of elfin-land. The ferns
Became its whispering fringe; and every stile
A faerie bridge into a lovelier world.
His magic sunlight touched the adventurous plants
That grew on the thatch of wayside cottages,
Crepis and Bromus, with the straggling brood
Of flowers he called tectorum, dancing there
Above the heads of mortals, like swart gnomes
In rusty red and gold.
“My Svartbäck Latin,”