Prose · 1888 · Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry
The Stolen Child
W. B. Yeats
Where dips the rocky highlandOf Sleuth Wood in the lake,There lies a leafy islandWhere flapping herons wakeThe drowsy water-rats.There we’ve hid our fairy vatsFull of berries,And of reddest stolen cherries.Come away, O, human child!To the woods and waters wild,With a fairy hand in hand,For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glossesThe dim grey sands with light,Far off by furthest RossesWe foot it all the night,Weaving olden dances,Mingling hands, and mingling glances,Till the moon has taken flight;To and fro we leap,And chase the frothy bubbles,While the world is full of troubles.And is anxious in its sleep.Come away! O, human child!To the woods and waters wild.With a fairy hand in hand,For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushesFrom the hills above Glen-Car,In pools among the rushes,That scarce could bathe a star,We seek for slumbering trout,And whispering in their ears;We give them evil dreams,Leaning softly outFrom ferns that drop their tearsOf dew on the young streams.Come! O, human child!To the woods and waters wild,With a fairy 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 lowingOf the calves on the warm hill-side.Or the kettle on the hobSing peace into his breast;Or see the brown mice bobRound and round the oatmeal chest.For he comes, the human child,To the woods and waters wild,With a fairy hand in hand,For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.
Text: Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry, edited and selected by W. B. Yeats (Walter Scott, London, 1888). Public domain.