To-day as I went by, whistling, I saw a leaf curled and knew there must be something inside it.

A poet of finest mould, in happiest mood, once saw a leaf drop from a tree which overhung a mirroring stream.

Of course, seeing those footprints made me more nervous than ever, and every time I saw a leaf move I jumped inside.

At another time, in trailing through a forest, he saw a leaf on the ground, differing in color from those around it.