But slowly, as I shouting slew And trampled in the bubbling mire, In my most secret spirit grew A whirling and a wandering fire: I stood: keen stars above me shone, Around me shone keen eyes of men: I laughed aloud and hurried on By rocky shore and rushy fen; I laughed because birds fluttered by, And starlight gleamed, and clouds flew high, And rushes waved and waters rolled. _They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old._ And now I wander in the woods When summer gluts the golden bees, Or in autumnal solitudes Arise the leopard-coloured trees; Or when along the wintry strands The cormorants shiver on their rocks; I wander on, and wave my hands, And sing, and shake my heavy locks. The grey wolf knows me; by one ear I lead along the woodland deer; The hares run by me growing bold. _They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old._ I came upon a little town, That slumbered in the harvest moon, And passed a-tiptoe up and down, Murmuring, to a fitful tune, How I have followed, night and day, A tramping of tremendous feet, And saw where this old tympan lay, Deserted on a doorway seat, And bore it to the woods with me; Of some unhuman misery Our married voices wildly trolled. _They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old._ I sang how, when day’s toil is done, Orchil shakes out her long dark hair That hides away the dying sun And sheds faint odours through the air: When my hand passed from wire to wire It quenched, with sound like falling dew, The whirling and the wandering fire; But lift a mournful ulalu, For the kind wires are torn and still, And I must wander wood and hill Through summer’s heat and winter’s cold. _They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old._ THE STOLEN CHILD WHERE dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water rats; There we’ve hid our faery vats. Full of berries, And of reddest stolen cherries. _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 The dim gray sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We 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 waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand._