Slim snakes slid down from fern and grass,
From wood, from fen, from anywhere;
You could not step, you would not pass,
And you would hesitate to stir,
Lest in some sudden, hurried tread
Your foot struck some unbruised head:
They slid in streams into the stream,--
It seemed like some infernal dream;
They curved, and graceful curved across,
Like graceful, waving sea-green moss,--
There is no art of man can make
A ripple like a rippling snake!