Lighter than dandelion down,
  Or feathers from the white moth’s wing,
Out of the gates of bramble-town
  The silkweed goes a-gypsying.

Too fair to fly in autumn’s rout,
  All winter in the sheath it lay;
But now, when spring is pushing out,
  The zephyr calls, “Away! away!”

Through mullein, bramble, brake, and fern,...