| Where dips the rocky highland
 | 
| Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
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| There lies a leafy island
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| Where flapping herons wake
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| The drowsy water rats;
 | 
| There we’ve hid our faery vats,
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| Full of berrys
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| And of reddest stolen cherries.
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| Come away, O human child!
 | 
| To the waters and the wild
 | 
| With a faery, hand in hand,
 | 
| For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
 | 
| Where the wave of moonlight glosses
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| The dim gray sands with light,
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| Far off by furthest Rosses
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| We foot it all the night,
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| Weaving olden dances
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| Mingling hands and mingling glances
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| Till the moon has taken flight;
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| To and fro we leap
 | 
| And chase the frothy bubbles,
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| While the world is full of troubles
 | 
| And anxious in its sleep.
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| Come away, O human child!
 | 
| To the waters and the wild
 | 
| With a faery, hand in hand,
 | 
| For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
 | 
| Where the wandering water gushes
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| From the hills above Glen-Car,
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| In pools among the rushes
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| That scare could bathe a star,
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| We seek for slumbering trout
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| And whispering in their ears
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| Give them unquiet dreams;
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| Leaning softly out
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| From ferns that drop their tears
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| Over the young streams.
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| Come away, O human child!
 | 
| To the waters and the wild
 | 
| With a faery, hand in hand,
 | 
| For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
 | 
| Away with us he’s going,
 | 
| The solemn-eyed:
 | 
| He’ll hear no more the lowing
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| Of the calves on the warm hillside
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| Or the kettle on the hob
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| Sing peace into his breast,
 | 
| Or see the brown mice bob
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| Round and round the oatmeal chest.
 | 
| For he comes, the human child,
 | 
| To the waters and the wild
 | 
| With a faery, hand in hand,
 | 
| For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.
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| William Butler Yeats, 1865−1939 |