Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain,
Fly as thick as the driving rain
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself gathering brambles;
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;
And here is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart runaway in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill, and there is a river;
Each glimpse and gone forever!
Robert Louis Stevenson
Note: While searching for the words of this poem, I came across this wonderful site The Wondering Minstrels, which posts a poem a day, with its analysis, information and anecdotes.