In The Woods, Not Long Ago, Met With Robin Goodfell'W; First We Heard His Horse-Like Laugh In An Ivy-Bush Near By; Then We Saw Him, Like A Calf, Or A Frisky Colt, Just Fly Kicking High His Frantic Heels, Squealing As A Scared Pig Squeals. Snorting, Baaing, Neighing Too, Through The Woods He Fairly Flew; Father Followed Him, But He Could N'T Catch Him Long Of Limb As A Grasshopper, You See, There'S No Man Could Capture Him: Then, Besides, His Color'S Green, So He's Rarely Ever Seen. Often When You're In The Woods, Just A-Walking With Your Moods, And Not Thinking; Listening How Still It Is, Right Near Your Head Breaks The Bellow Of A Cow And You Drop Scared Nearly Dead: That's Old Robin You Can't See 'Cause He's Colored Like A Tree. And I've Heard He Calls And Calls In The Woods For Help, Or Falls, Like An Urchin, From A Tree: You Jump Up And Shout And Run But There'S Nothing There To See; Just A Snickering As Of Fun In The Thicket, Or Somewhere, And You're Madder Than A Hare. Sometimes In Dark Woods A Light Flashes In Your Eyes, As Bright As A Firefly After Rain; And Your Eyes Are Dazzled So That You Shut Them Look Again Nothing'S There. That's Goodfell'W, With His Jack-O'-Lantern; See? Hiding In Some Hollow Tree. These Are Pranks He Plays On Men When He Feels All Right; But When He Is Out Of Humor, Well! Better Keep Away! He'll Harm: Leads You With A Heifer'S Bell, Or Horn-Lantern, To Some Farm, You Suppose; But 'T Is N'T! No! Some Old Bog In Which You Go. Sometimes He's Called Puck, They Say: And It Was The Other Day Father Read Me From A Book That Some People Call Him Lob One Who Haunts The Ingle-Nook, Or Sits Humped Upon The Hob Whistling Up The Chimney-Flue Till The Kettle Whistles Too. He's The Lubber Fiend, That Sweeps Ashes In Your Face And Creeps Under Cracks When North Winds Howl; Hides Behind The Closet Door And Peeps At You, Like An Owl, Bumps You Shrieking On The Floor; And At Night He Rides A Mare Round Your Bed And Everywhere. And He Teases Dogs That Doze By The Fire; And, I Suppose, They Must Seehim In Their Dreams When They Snarl And Glare O'Erhead: And It's He, Or So It Seems, Tumbles Children Out Of Bed, Wakes The House And Makes A Fuss; For He's Awful Mischievous. That's What I Heard Father Say, And I Know It's True. Some Day I'm A-Going To Be A Boy Just Like Robin; Romp And Shout, And Kick Up My Heels For Joy, And Scare People Round About; Just Play Tricks On Every One. Don't You Think It Would Be Fun? Take An Old Cow-Horn, That's Harsh As A Frog That Haunts The Marsh, And When Folks Are In Their Beds Blow It At The Windowsill Till They Cover Up Their Heads; And When All Again Is Still, Hear Them Wonder What It Was That Was Making All That Fuss. Or I'll Make A Pumpkin Face; Light, And Hide It In Some Place Where Are Bushes; And When Men Come Along I'll Grunt And Groan Like An Old Pig In Its Pen; When They Run I'll Throw A Stone, Or Just Vanish; And They'll Say " What Was That, I Wonder? Eh?" It Would Be A Lot Of Fun, Would N'T It? To Make Folks Run; Jumping At Them From The Dark Like A Big Black Dog, Oh My! It Would Be The Greatest Lark! Wonder Why It Is That I Can't Grow Up At Once Like You And Do Things I'd Like To Do?