The Stolen Child Where dips the rocky highland Of sleieve bloom or hallaun, Away with spindrift gray and designation, Away with gilded white marsh of the moon.

And I would not sleep when you sang for me, Until the world’s beauty enshrined the sea. And I would roam where the pit-weep calls And play beneath the softly falling light.

Where the river leans to the silver sea, Take me away to the sounds and smells of the earth free.

• William Butler Yeats