Classic Poem

Ofttimes as through some forest glade
My step hath strayed,
And I observe the beauties of the scene:
The bowers soft and green,
Wherein some elfin band perchance hath played;
Or where the wood-nymphs dwell,
And weave their fairy-spell;
While here and there a glint of sun shines down,
And penetrates its leafy crown,
And from the upper hills,
The music of the rills,
Entrancing, clear,
Enchant the ear,
I wonder where, deep-hid from mortal eyes,
The fine-spun line 'twixt fact and fancy lies?